


Caraway Street

by siriuslywritten



Series: The Marauders' Map [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Sirius Black, Death, Explicit Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Marlene McKinnon, Gay Remus Lupin, Gilderoy Lockhart makes a rogue appearance and I will not apologise for it, God where to start, I still hate Snape, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Muggle AU, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, SO MANY TAGS!!, Sex, The Marauders have joined the real world, They're Supposed To Be Adults, Underage Drug Use, What a jest, it's a big one, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslywritten/pseuds/siriuslywritten
Summary: The Marauders (minus Peter) move to London after university, along with Marlene, Lily and Dorcas. Chaos ensues, obviously.A follow-on from my previous fic, Hepburn Avenue, and the one-shot Canterbury Lane. You don’t have to read them to understand this, but it might help.Chapters that are explicit are marked with an asterisk!





	1. Shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus move into their new flat. 
> 
> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra

Sirius looked around him, as the floorboard creaked beneath his feet. The room was surprisingly airy, with a sloping ceiling and whitewashed walls, and a little window that looked out over a somewhat-bedraggled back garden. The August day was hot and bright, beating down on the flagstones below, and through the open window Sirius could hear the sounds of the city alive with activity. 

He and Remus had taken a room together in a flat along with James, at the top of a slightly-crumbling Edwardian house in London’s Muswell Hill. The house belonged to a bumbling man called Elphias Doge, who Sirius was quite convinced was over a hundred years old, and who had a penchant for remarkable hats. They’d found the advert for the place on a noticeboard in a coffee shop early in the summer, after a terrible viewing of a flat with so much black mould that Remus had walked out midway through. The first time they’d visited the house, Sirius had declared it perfect, even with the peeling paint in the bathroom and the front door that required a hard shove to open; the slim cupboard door in the hall that revealed stairs up to the roof had been the icing on the cake. Even better, the bigger flat below (which was in considerably better condition, James pointed out), had come available at the same time, and Lily, Dorcas and Marlene were set to move in. 

_Together_. The word didn’t get old. Hadn’t got old for nearly a year now, Sirius thought. The word still had the capacity to send a frisson of excitement through him, make his heart beat a little faster. Remus, him, _together_. Sirius grinned in spite of himself. He turned, and cast his eyes over the piles of boxes, the bare mattress on the wrought iron bed frame, and the detritus of his life that lay scattered about, waiting to be unpacked. _Their lives. Together._

“That’s everything, and I’ve _finally_ got rid of Elphias,” Remus said as he walked into the room. He pulled his sunglasses off the top of his head, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. He shoved them into the pocket on his shirt, and walked over to where Sirius stood by the window. 

“Elphias is such a legend,” Sirius grinned. 

“ _God_ , he can talk though,” Remus replied. “I feel like I know his family inside out, and it’s only the second time I’ve met the man.” 

Sirius barked out a laugh.

“He just likes a chat,” he said, good-naturedly. “Anyway, enough about Elphias. We’ve got a week until Prongs gets back from his holiday with Evans. What do you want to do with all this free time now we’re here? Christen the bed? Shag on every possible surface?” Sirius wiggled his eyes suggestively, and Remus swatted him on the arm. 

“We should unpack,” Remus said finally, looking at the boxes and suitcases that littered the room. 

“It’ll wait,” Sirius said, pulling him closer. “Why don’t we go explore the new hood?” 

“The hood,” Remus repeated, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” Sirius grinned, “the new hood. The ends, the neighby, the homestead, the turf.” 

“You are so white.”

“I shall ignore that comment, and direct you to the front door. C’mon.” Sirius held out a hand, and Remus took it, smiling in spite of himself. 

They made their way down the two flights of stairs, passing the front door to what would soon be the girls’ flat, and the accountants whose office occupied the ground floor. Stepping out into the hot summer sunshine, Sirius glanced back at the building. Even the name sounded good, he thought. _11, Caraway Street._

“Can you believe we’ve actually done it? Graduated, I mean,” Remus asked, smiling gratefully as Sirius held the garden gate open for him as he stepped onto the street. 

“It feels bizarre, doesn’t it?” Sirius hummed, lacing their fingers together as they crossed the road. It was a wide, quiet street on a slight incline, with plane trees in bloom along the pavement and the houses on either side replicas of their own - albeit, somewhat less scruffy. 

“I feel a bit bad about Pete, to be honest,” Remus admitted, as they strolled. “It can’t be fun having most of your friends move to London and you’ve moved to Bristol.” 

“Eh,” Sirius shrugged, “that’s graduate life, isn’t it? You go where the jobs are. Plus, his job pays so well that he can afford to come visit!” 

“True, and I guess it’s not just him who’s not living with friends anymore. Mary and Reg have finally found a flat in Edinburgh.” 

“Oh good! I know Mary was worried - Marlene mentioned it the other day on Skype.”

“How is Marlene?”

“She’s doing well,” Sirius said, “tanned as anything. She’s back in the country in the next couple of days, and not happy about it - I think Spain suits her.” 

“Sun, sea, and sangria would suit me too,” Remus replied.

“Getting bored of me already, Lupin?” Sirius teased.

Remus was about to reply with a sarcastic comment, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to number 26 swung open. He and Sirius stopped at the sound of a rather fake sounding cough.

“ _Hem, hem_.”

They turned, and found themselves face-to-face with a woman who Remus could only describe as looking remarkably like a toad in a cardigan. She had a wide, pallid face with a broad, lipstick-coated mouth that was plastered into such an unpleasant smile that Remus didn’t know where to look. Perched atop her head was a pink velvet bow, matching the fuchsia dress she was wearing, and the sickly, baby pink knitwear she had draped about her shoulders.

“Have you just moved into number eleven?” she asked, in an uncomfortably girlish tone. Remus glanced at Sirius out the corner of his eye.

“Er, yes, we have,” he said. 

“Dolores Umbridge, how do you do,” she simpered, stepping forward and extending a hand over the low garden wall. 

“How do you do,” Sirius replied, taking her hand. “Sirius Black.” 

“Remus Lupin,” Remus said, doing the same in turn.

“So lovely to see such bright smiling faces move into the area,” she said, looking at Sirius appraisingly. Remus bit his lip to stifle his grin - he was never going to let Sirius live this down, that he was getting checked out by an amphibian in argyle. 

“What is it that you’ve moved to Muswell Hill to do?” Umbridge continued. 

“I’ve just got a job working as a buyer in a gallery,” Sirius said. “Remus is studying for his masters in History.” 

“I see,” Umbridge breathed. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. 

“What is it you do?” Remus asked politely. 

“Oh I’m very involved in the local community,” Umbridge simpered, puffing up. “I run the local Conservative association ladies club, you know, and..."

Sirius zoned out, unable to keep his attention on what she was saying when her hands were so distracting. She counted on her stubby little fingers as she spoke, bedecked with some of the most unattractive costume jewellery Sirius had ever seen. One of the rings seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place it - amber, with a kind of serpent set in the middle of it.

“And I run the women’s union at the church,” she continued, before enquiring, “have you a faith?” 

“Oh yes, hail Satan,” Sirius said, in such a sweet and unassuming tone of voice that Umbridge did a double take to make sure she’d heard him correctly. She paled, her toad-like eyes growing wide with horror. 

“He was joking,” Remus said quickly. “Quirky sense of humour, you know.”

“Yes, well…” Umbridge trailed off, looking quickly between the two boys as though she couldn’t work out if they were mocking her. 

“Anyway, we must be off,” Sirius said jovially. “It was lovely to meet you, Delilah.”

“ _Dolores_ ,” Remus muttered. 

“Yes! Dolores!” 

“And you,” Umbridge replied, her simpering tone returned. 

“Goodbye now,” Remus said, and they turned. They walked away with Remus feeling as though Umbridge was watching their every move as they passed further down the street. 

“ _Hail Satan?_ ” Remus said under his breath, once they were out of earshot. 

“I couldn’t resist!”

“Well, something tells me that woman is insane.” 

“ _Total_ fruitcake,” Sirius replied. 

* * *

Remus and Sirius spent the afternoon exploring their new home. They walked down Muswell Hill towards Alexandra Palace, taking in the hustle and bustle of the city and browsing the shops as they went. At one point, Sirius tried to buy them ice creams at a little shop run by a very enthusiastic man, who had introduced himself as Florian Fortescue. Upon finding out they had just moved into the area, he had plied them with an ice cream each and categorically insisted that they didn’t pay. They spent a happy few hours lounging in the park, before meandering home. 

Later that evening, and once they’d returned to the flat to begin their mammoth task of unpacking, Sirius stepped out to collect their take out food that had been delivered. He walked to the curb, handing over the cash in his hand to the driver and receiving their delivery in return. He had just pushed open the low iron gate, which squeaked horrendously, when a figure seemed to emerge from nowhere in next-door’s garden, springing up. Whatever the figure was wearing seemed to billow about them in the evening breeze, giving an ethereal appearance out the corner of Sirius’ eye. When it spoke, its voice was loud and clear.

“You must be one of our new neighbours!”

Sirius yelped, nearly dropping the bag he was carrying full of take out food. He spun round, and came face-to-face with what was, in fact, an old man. He was tall, and looked rather friendly, as Sirius’ heart pounded in his chest. 

“Bloody hell,” he cried, “you scared the life out of me!” 

“Sorry,” the old man chuckled. Now Sirius had a chance to look at him properly, he noted the man’s incredible appearance. He had a long white beard, and had on a pair of gold-rimmed, half-moon spectacles, behind which were a pair of electric blue eyes. They were surrounded by wrinkles, and glittered with amusement and inquisitiveness. Atop his equally long white hair was perched a little hat with a gold tassel, and what had seemed like eerie robes were in fact a rather striking midnight blue dressing gown, embroidered with constellations. 

“Albus Dumbledore,” he said, extending a hand. Sirius took it, surprised by the strength of the old man’s grip.

“Sirius Black,” he replied.

“Black, Black,” Dumbledore repeated, looking like he was searching his mind as though it were a filing cabinet. He scanned Sirius’ face. “Not the Grimmauld Blacks?”

“Unfortunately,” Sirius smiled ruefully. 

“Orion Black?”

“My father. Again, unfortunately.” 

“I think I saw your father in court, once.” 

“Really?” Sirius frowned. 

“I was a lawyer for a long time,” Dumbledore said, “before I became a professor.” 

“Oh, well then, you’d have got the full force of my father’s stellar personality, he hates lawyers. Let me guess, it was tax evasion, or something like that?” 

“Something like that, yes,” Dumbledore smiled softly. He lifted his left hand, and Sirius saw him holding a trowel. “I’m sorry for scaring you, I should have thought that you weren’t expecting anyone. I have to do the gardening at night at the moment, as it’s too hot during the day.” 

Sirius was about to reply, when the front door of Dumbledore’s house opened, and out stepped a woman who he would have described as old, but nowhere near as old as the gentleman standing in front of him. She had a lined and somewhat stern face, and was dressed in a dark green shirtwaist dress, with her dark hair pulled back into a bun.

“Albus, did you- oh!” 

She had a clipped Scottish accent, and looked surprised to see Dumbledore speaking to someone. She stepped out of the front door, and crossed the garden.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore said warmly, as she approached. “This is one of our new neighbours - I’m afraid I’ve just frightened the life out of the poor boy.”

“No harm done,” Sirius said kindly, and smiled at the woman.

“Minerva McGonagall,” she said. 

“Sirius,” he replied, deciding to leave off his surname. No doubt the old man would share it later.

“Have you lived here long?” Sirius asked, politely, while acutely aware that the takeaway in his bag was cooling. 

“Minerva’s lived here for, what, twenty years?” Dumbledore said, turning to look at her.

“Twenty three.” 

“She’s an old friend,” Dumbledore continued, “and very kindly offered to let me lodge with her. I moved in only last year. We practiced law together for many years.” 

“Lovely.” 

“You’ve just moved in then?” McGonagall asked, albeit a little suspiciously. 

“Yes, just me and my boyfriend at the moment. Lazy first night, you know, thought we’d order in,” Sirius said, lifting the takeout bag up. 

“We’ll let you get on,” Dumbledore said warmly, “and hopefully we’ll meet again soon.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Sirius said to them both, and stepped back across the flowerbed he’d been standing in to the garden path.

“Cheerio, then,” Dumbledore smiled, and Sirius waved. He turned, and fished about in his pocket for his house keys. Remus would wonder where he’d got to, he thought. Finding the keys, he stepped onto the front step, and just as he was about to put the key into the lock, Sirius heard a hushed tone from the next-door garden. 

“Do you know, Minerva, that young man is the son of Orion Black?” 

“No!” Sirius heard the woman reply. “He seemed positively _pleasant!_ ”

_Always the tone of surprise_ , Sirius thought, grinning and letting himself into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory:  
> Sirius, Peter, James and Remus all met at university. They become the best of pals, move in together etc. and then in their final year, a group of girls moved in next door - Lily, Dorcas, Marlene and Mary. Sirius and Remus end up getting together, as do James and Lily. Sirius is bi, Remus is gay, and Marlene is self-described as being “95% gay”. 
> 
> I imagine Sirius as the son of an earl (handily called the Earl of Grimmauld), who left home at 16 after coming out to his parents. He lives with his Uncle Alphard for two years before going to university, when Alphard dies in his first year. He inherited a lot of money. He studied History of Art at university. He calls Remus “Remouse”, or “Mouse” for short. He used to own a lobster called Goose.
> 
> Seriously, just go read Hepburn Avenue. Everything will make much more sense.


	2. T-Shirt Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius goes to meet Marlene for a drink, and we get a little bit of Sirius' back story. Plus, Marlene reveals some gossip, and Wolfstar have a cute drunk kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little chapter getting Marlene back in the picture, as she is my favourite of the girls. Also turns out that I can't help but write fanfic, so here's an early posting. 
> 
> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves

“Babe!” 

Sirius turned round, and grinned as he watched Marlene McKinnon make her way across the bar towards him. Same old Marlene, he thought - long legs, tanned from her summer in Barcelona, and that long blonde hair. He noted the appreciative looks from a number of men as she crossed the bar, and smirked; they had one-too-many Y chromosomes for Marlene to be interested. 

“On time as ever, Miss McKinnon,” Sirius grinned, pulling her into a hug. She laughed, and kissed him affectionately on the cheek.

“How are you?” Marlene asked, throwing herself into the seat beside him. He pushed a glass of white wine toward her and she smiled gratefully. 

“I’m very well, thank you,” Sirius replied. 

“This place is amazing!” Marlene gestured to the bar they were sitting in. “I had no idea it existed!”

“Uh-huh,” Sirius said, looking up at the vaulted art deco ceiling of the underground bar, “Uncle A used to bring me here.” 

“Weren’t you like sixteen when you moved in with him?”

“Yeah,” Sirius chuckled, and pointed to a table in the corner, “he used to park me over there and buy me one drink an hour if I behaved.”

“And did you? Behave?”

“Didn’t need to,” he smirked, “there were plenty of ladies in here who were very glad to by me a drink or two in exchange for my company, if you know what I mean.” 

“Jesus Christ, Sirius.” 

“Had my first time with Rosmerta,” Sirius said, nodding to the pretty manager who was serving a couple on the other side of the bar. She looked up just as he did so, and Sirius gave her a flirty wink, which she returned with a laugh. 

“I am constantly surprised you made it to adulthood being relatively normal,” Marlene said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, thank you, McKinnon,” Sirius beamed, “it’s not often I’m referred to as normal.” 

“Note the emphasis on the word _relatively_.”

Before Sirius could reply, a small, bald man walked over to them, and clapped him on the back. He was a curious figure; he must have only been about 5 foot in height, and his head practically reflected the overhead light like a bowling ball. 

“Well, if it isn’t the young Sirius Black!” he beamed, displaying a smile with a fair few teeth missing. His eyes, a warm and friendly hazelnut, crinkled at the sides as he smiled, cutting deep lines into the sides of his face. 

“Tom! How’re you doing?” Sirius asked, standing up and shaking the hand of the bald man enthusiastically.

“Very well, thank you, young man! Getting by, getting by.”

“Sorry,” Sirius said suddenly, turning back to Marlene, “Marls, this is Tom, he owns the place. Tom, this is a friend of mine, Marlene.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Marlene smiled, and shook the man’s hand.

“Just a friend, eh?” Tom said, winking, gaining a laugh from Sirius. 

“I’m firmly in the other camp now, old chap,” he said. “You should meet Remus, my boyfriend - I’ll bring him by some time.” 

“I’d like that,” Tom said warmly. 

“How do you guys know each other?” Marlene asked, gesturing between the two of them with her wine glass.

“Young Sirius’ uncle was an old pal of mine,” Tom said. 

“I told you Uncle A used to bring me here, Marls,” Sirius grinned. 

“Not a day doesn’t go by when I don’t miss your uncle, you know,” Tom said, a little wistfully. “He was a good friend, and a great man.” 

“That he was,” Sirius said.

“Gave me my start-up loan to get this place off the ground, you know? It was a dump before I bought it, had lain derelict for years. Couldn’t have done that without Alphard.” 

“Huh,” Sirius said, perching back on his barstool, “he never said.”  
  
"Yep, all of this down to the ever-generous Alphard Black. So," Tom pointed a short, fat finger at Sirius, "you don't pay here, young man."   
  
"Are you sure?" Sirius asked.   
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"Well, thank you very much, Tom." 

“Anyway,” Tom shrugged, and tucked his hands into the pockets on his waistcoat. “enough of this old man reminiscing. I’ll be getting on, I’ve got to go and get some more champagne out the cellar. You take care now, Sirius - it was good to see you.”

With a smile and a wave, he was gone, tottering off through the bar. He barely stood taller than the mahogany that separated the booths lined with rose velvet. 

“Your uncle sounds like quite the character,” Marlene said, as Sirius turned back to the bar. 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, “total fruit bat. Great guy, though. He never planned on being _in loco parentis_ for two years, but I never felt like I was a burden.”

“Where did you live?” Marlene asked. 

“He rented a flat round the corner from here. I was only there in the holidays, because I was away at boarding school for the rest of the time - he managed to convince my parents to keep paying for _that_ , I suppose.” 

“He died in first year, right?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, “the old guy snuffed it in bed with a rather beautiful young woman. Coroner said his heart gave out, probably from all the booze and cocaine.” 

“What a way to go.” 

“Right?” he laughed. “Anyway, enough about my uncle, we’re here for a good time.” 

“How about some shots?” Marlene asked, grinning wickedly. 

“Absolutely not!”

“You don’t wanna do tequila with me?” she pouted.

“I’ve spent too many nights vomiting for that, Marls,” Sirius chuckled. He gestured to the bartender, and ordered them another wine.

“God, Remus has made you a real adult! How is it, living with him?” Marlene asked, draining her glass as the bartender set fresh drinks in front of them.

“I’ve lived with him since first year!”

“You know what I mean,” Marlene said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s good,” Sirius grinned. “Different, but good. He’s still insanely tidy. I know we’ve only been moved in a week, but it’s really remarkably clean in the flat.” 

“When do James and Lily get back again?” 

“Tomorrow,” Sirius said, “so I guess tonight’s our last chance to shag everywhere.” 

“Gross,” Marlene said, laughing, “remind me to never sit down on anything in your flat.” 

“Sorry I couldn’t help you move in earlier, by the way. I had some stuff I had to do at the bank and it took approximately eleventy billion years.” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Marlene said, taking a sip from her glass. “Remus helped me lug the heavy stuff, and then made me a cup of tea because _obviously_ I didn’t think to buy any milk on the drive down. I did ask if he wanted to come join us, but he said he wanted to finish a book about King John.” 

“Classic Rem.” 

“He seems… good. Like, more relaxed. I don’t know if it’s the sunshine or something,” Marlene shrugged, “but he looks better than he did before the summer.” 

“Honestly,” Sirius sighed, “I think finals really took it out of him. Stuff with his parents has been… difficult. You know his dad’s a detective, on the murder squad? He’s basically a functional alcoholic in order to deal with it.”   
  
“Shit,” Marlene winced, “I had no idea.” 

“Lyall’s super nice, don’t get me wrong,” Sirius added quickly. “Like, I think he’s a totally solid guy and Rem has a pretty decent relationship with him. But… well, I think Remus spends a lot of time worrying about the moment when his dad goes from being functional alcoholic to being dysfunctional alcoholic, you know?"

“Pre-emptive worry? Doesn’t sound like our Remus.” 

Sirius laughed. 

“Anyway, come on, tell me about Spain then,” he said, turning on his stool so he was facing her, and patting Marlene’s knee. “I want to hear all about the señoritas you were getting down and dirty with.” 

Marlene laughed.

“I had a very PG-rated summer, thank you very much.”

“Can’t believe you said that _I_ had become an adult.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” Marlene snorted. “Because I do actually have some gossip for you.” 

“Yas girl! C’mon, cough up.” 

Marlene paused for a minute, a funny smile playing at her lips before she spoke.

“You remember Hestia Jones, right?” 

Sirius frowned.

“Tall, dark, hot as hell? You guys dated for approximately 42 seconds last year before she ghosted you.” 

“Well,” Marlene said slowly, “she might be back on the scene. In a casual, very-much-not-strings-attached kind of way.” 

Sirius looked at Marlene for a minute, unsure how to interpret that. He knew Marlene, knew the difference in her tone of voice when she talked about someone she was hooking up with, and someone she actually wanted to date. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Marlene shrugged, saying nothing.

“Not exactly a ringing endorsement, Marls,” Sirius said, knocking her shoulder with his. 

“I’m… seeing how things go, I guess? Like, obviously I’m still into her, otherwise we wouldn’t be texting. I guess I’m seeing if we can’t just pick things up where we left off, I suppose.” 

“Well, if you’re happy and safe, who am I to judge?”

“Cheers to that, eh?” Marlene said, lifting her glass. 

“Cheers to that,” Sirius repeated, mirroring her and touching her glass with his own. He brought his drink to his lips, and watched her over the rim of the glass. Something, he thought, still didn’t seem right. 

* * *

Sirius stumbled into the dark bedroom, stubbing his toe on the doorframe as his did so, and cursed in a whisper. He and Marlene _had_ ended up doing tequila because, well, _of course they did_ , he thought. Foot throbbing, Sirius pulled his shirt over his head and threw it vaguely toward the laundry basket in the corner. 

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” came Remus’ voice from the bed, making him jump.

“Lil bit,” Sirius replied. _No point in lying_. 

“C’mere,” Remus said, and Sirius heard him pat the bed. He unhooked his belt slowly, methodically, kicking off his trousers roughly to the side of the room. He padded over to the bed, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, and crawled across it. 

“Did you have a good time with Marlene?” Remus murmured, as Sirius slid under the duvet.

“Yeah, really fun. Sorry you didn’t come though, but I know you wanted to spend time with your main bae King John.” 

“The book was excellent, thanks,” Remus said sarcastically, but Sirius could hear the smile in his voice.

The gap between the curtains cast a beam of light across Remus’ face, and across his mussed blond hair. Sirius caught his chin between his forefinger and thumb. He bent forward, kissing Remus a little clumsily, pushing his tongue against his. He felt Remus run a hand over his bare chest, threading his fingers through the smattering of coarse hair. 

“You taste like tequila,” Remus said sleepily, as they pulled apart, “and cigarette smoke.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Sirius huffed. He kissed the pulse point behind Remus’ ear, relishing in the sound of the whine that escaped Remus’ lips.

“And a little bit like shame.”  
  
“Me?” Sirius stopped his ministrations, pulling back to look at his boyfriend in the eye. “I thought you always said I was shameless?”

“God, what a _line_.” 

“You love it,” Sirius whispered, biting down on the delicate skin along Remus’ jaw. He could feel the roughness of his stubble, the fair five-o’clock shadow that Remus sported. The boy gave a hiss of pain. 

“Play nice,” Remus whispered, grabbing the downy hair at the back of Sirius' head where it met his neck. It took some getting used to, now Sirius had cut it short again. 

“Me?” Sirius asked again. “I’m _always_ nice, Remus Lupin.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Gonna show me just how nice you are, then?” 

“Absolutely,” Sirius whispered, leaning in for another kiss, “abso-fucking-lutely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys enjoyed! Appreciate the kudos/comments/bookmarks, as ever :)


	3. Send Me On My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Lily return, and the gang have a cute evening on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely find myself hilarious, and I will not apologise for it. I don’t know how to make tasteful jokes, so I won’t apologise for that either.

“Guess who’s back, dickheads!” 

James sauntered through the front door, casting his suitcase down and spreading his arms wide. He was tanned, his hair as messy as ever, and sported a broad, beaming grin. 

“Prongs!”

Sirius bounded off of the sofa, tackling James. The taller boy scooped him up, spinning him round in a fierce hug. Remus laughed, leaning against the doorframe that led from the kitchen to the hall, watching as his best friends embraced. 

“Moony, old pal!” James said, finally setting Sirius clumsily back on the ground. “Great to see you!”

“And you,” Remus replied, embracing his friend. 

“God, what a journey!” James exclaimed as they parted. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Remus said warmly, turning back into the kitchen. 

“I put your boxes in your room,” Sirius said, gesturing towards one of the doors behind them.

“What, you didn’t unpack for me?”

“James, I haven’t even unpacked my _own_ things, it’s driving Remus mad.” 

“Can’t get the staff these days,” James muttered, grinning. Sirius punched him on the arm. 

“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward the sofas, “let’s go sit, I want to hear all your news.” 

Walking across the room, James threw himself into an armchair, the springs of which groaned as he did so. Sirius stretched out on the slightly-sagging sofa, covered with a somewhat faded rainbow-coloured crochet blanket, that James’ mother had made for him as a child and that had followed him from place to place. 

“So, what have you been up two while I’ve been gone? Anxiously counting down the days until my return? Praying for my safety every night?” James teased.

“We shagged in that chair,” Sirius said nonchalantly, pointing at the armchair James was sitting in. The boy jumped up, spitting.

“We didn’t,” Remus said as he walked back into the room, handing James a cup of tea.

“Thank God,” James muttered, taking the drink and sitting back down again.

“At least,” Remus said, settling onto the sofa beside Sirius, “I don’t _think_ we did.” 

Both the boys laughed as they watched James swear and jump up again, spilling tea down his trouser leg.

“Relax,” Sirius sniggered, throwing an arm around Remus, “we didn’t.” 

“Bastards, both of you.” 

“How was your romantic holiday with Evans?” 

“Great,” James grinned. “Sun, a rooftop terrace, a pool to ourselves… it’s a wonder we left the Airbnb.”

“Miraculous,” Sirius said. 

“Also, who knew Lily had such a flair for languages? Watching the girl of your dreams speak Italian… intensely hot, you know?”

“I’m homosexual, so I’ll take your word for it,” Remus commented drily, taking a sip from his tea. 

“As an ardent bisexual, I can confirm there’s very little difference between when a guy does it and a girl does. Think about how much it turns you on when I speak French to you, Moony.” 

“Yes, _thank you_ ,” Remus said, blushing as James and Sirius sniggered. 

“Although there was this couple in the apartment next to us,” James said, pulling a face, “and let’s just say they didn’t quite realise how _thin_ the walls were.” 

“Unfortunate,” Sirius grimaced.

“I couldn’t decide between playing Barry White’s entire discography, or just the audio to Schindler’s List. I’m pretty certain it’s illegal to have sex whilst Schindler’s List is on, but I could be wrong.” 

Remus laughed. 

“Text Evans and tell the girls to come up later,” Sirius directed at James. “We thought we could order pizza and sit on the roof and get gently smashed. I got more wine out of Uncle A’s stash.” 

“I cannot believe that your uncle snuffed it and left you a storage unit full of cases of wine,” James said, shaking his head and pulling out his phone. “What was he going to do with it all? No way he was going to drink all that, even if he’d lived longer.” 

“I know you only met him once,” Sirius replied, “but surely you realised that Uncle A was never really down with the whole idea of _planning for the future_ , beyond planning where the next tipple came from?” 

“No wonder you’re the way you are,” Remus rolled his eyes affectionately. 

“I shall take that as a great compliment.” 

“Lily wants to know what time,” James said, looking up from his phone and grinning, as he realised he was interrupting his two best friends gazing at each other adoringly. 

“Seven thirty, ish?” Sirius said, resting his head on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes. “All that excitement was incredibly tiring, I’m going to need a nap before they arrive.” 

“Sirius, you’ve basically been lying on that sofa all morning.” 

“Like I said, Rem, _incredibly tiring_.” 

* * *

The evening arrived, and so too did the girls from number 11B. Sirius led the way from the hall, through the slim pair of doors with their chipped cream paintwork, and up the narrow set of stairs to the roof. It was a sort of terrace, maybe only six or seven square metres in total, bordered on two sides by railings and two side by the walls of the house, with the most extraordinary view of the city. They’d laid out blankets and pillows on the floor, eschewing the rickety little table and two folding chairs that had been left there, given over to rust. Remus had halfheartedly strung a set of fairy lights he found in a cupboard around the railings at one end. It was ramshackle, and a little ugly, and almost-certainly a health and safety violation, but it was theirs. 

“God, the view from up here’s insane!” Marlene exclaimed.

“Yeah, and come here,” Sirius gestured, leaning dangerously far over the railings. “If you sort of twist round there, you can see Ally Pally.”*

“Fall off the roof, Sirius Black, and I’ll kill you,” Remus warned. 

“Considering I’d probably be dead already from the fall, I’d say that would be a vastly unprecedented set of circumstances.” 

“Smart arse,” Remus replied, shaking his head and laughing. 

“Where did you grow up again, Sirius?” Marlene asked, scanning the city horizon line.

“Grimmauld Place,” he replied, pointing vaguely to the south of them. “Other side of Kings Cross, near Claremont Square.”**

“Miles away then?” 

“Thank _God_ , yes.” 

“Sometimes it amuses me quite how much you hate your family.”

“I don’t _hate_ them, per se,” Sirius replied, leaning back against the railings, “I’m just not exactly thrilled about their continued existence.” 

“You want a drink, Marlene?” Remus asked, holding a bottle of wine and a glass. “Courtesy of Sirius’ Uncle Alphard, we’ve rather a nice selection.”

“Ooh, yes please,” Marlene said, taking the glass from Remus and holding it out for him to fill from the bottle. “What do you mean, courtesy of Alphard?”

“When he snuffed it,” Sirius said with a laugh, “it turns out he had a pretty impressive stash of wine in a storage unit. The monthly cost is pretty low, so I kept it. There’s so much of it, it should last a lifetime, but I’m saving the final bottle of champagne for my deathbed - I want to go out in style.”

“You’re twenty-two, maybe less of the chat about your deathbed?” Remus handed Sirius a glass.

“Sirius, give up the amateur dramatics?” Lily teased. “ _Never_.” 

“Rude,” Sirius retorted. 

“You still love me though,” Lily grinned, hugging Sirius tightly so that his arms were pinned to his side.

“I have a vague affection for you, I suppose, Evans.” 

“Sirius!”

“Padfoot is loyal to one man, and one man only,” interjected James.

“Well,” Lily said, released Sirius from her hug, “I suppose if I was going to lose out, I’d rather it be to Remus than anyone else.” 

“I meant me!” James cried. 

“Sorry babe,” said Sirius, and he snaked an arm round Remus’ waist, “but I’m afraid I’m a taken man.” 

“I’ll go and get more glasses,” James chuckled, heading down the stairs. 

“Honestly, you feel like you’re barely in a city when you’re up here,” Dorcas said.

“Right?” Sirius took a sip of wine. “Then again, none of you grew up in London, did you?”

“Country girl, born and raised,” Marlene said. “You’ve all been to my house - Nettlebed St Lawrence is the _most_ boring village on the planet.” 

“I grew up in Coventry,” Dorcas added, “so a city, but a very dull one.” 

“Cokeworth’s a boring industrial town,” Lily shrugged, “and that’s being generous.”

“And I grew up in the Lake District, so nowhere near to civilisation,” Remus quipped. 

“You sweet summer children,” grinned Sirius wickedly, “how much I have to teach you about the big city.” 

“Pizza’s here!” James yelled, appearing from the stairs with an assortment of pizza boxes in his arms. 

“Thank _God_ ,” said Lily, “I’m starving.” 

“There are pepperoni, and just plain cheese,” James began distributing pizzas, “so dig in.” 

“Don’t tell me you forgot my special order?” Sirius asked, feigning horror. 

“Hawaiian with olives for you, Sirius, because you’re repugnant,” James said, handing one of the boxes over.

“Yeah, but I never have to share, do I?” Sirius grinned.

“That’s because the rest of us have tastebuds,” Marlene said, “and don’t want to eat pineapple with olives on a pizza?” 

“A minor technicality.” 

“Pass me some pepperoni,” Dorcas said, gesturing to Remus. 

“See, I can’t get on board with pepperoni,” Sirius said, mouth full of pizza. “Is there anything worse than biting into pizza and having the pepperoni slide off with the cheese and slap you on the chin?”

“Honestly, that’s the most first world problem I’ve ever heard,” Lily giggled. 

“I just like to keep everyone grounded,” Sirius winked back.

“Pass me that wine, Lils,” Marlene said, gesturing to a bottle of white wine.

“Don’t know if there’s a bottle opener up here,” James said, watching as the girls exchanged the bottle.

“ _Semper paratus_ ,” Sirius said, pulling a corkscrew from his pocket.

“Seeing as we don’t have Mary, the resident Latin scholar, living with us anymore, perhaps you’d like to translate for us mere mortals who didn’t grow up speaking Latin?” Marlene said. 

“It means _always ready_ ,” Sirius replied, winking exaggeratedly at Remus, who responded by throwing a cushion at Sirius’ head. It narrowly missed. 

“Shit aim, Moony,” James said, chucking it back. 

“Eat your damn pizza, Prongs,” Remus grinned at him. 

The evening drew on, and soon the sun was setting over London, silhouetting its skyscrapers and high rises, bridges and clocktowers against a tapestry of fuchsias and bright oranges, hints of crimson and glistening mother-of-pearl. They’d eaten and drunk their fill, overindulging on the pizza and the good wine, and the vat of strawberries that Lily had brought with her. In their post-prandial stupor, the group had stretched out on the blankets. The stone beneath them was still warm from the day’s blistering heat, and the residual warmth lulled them into a comfortable haze.

“Remember when you had a pet lobster, Sirius?” Marlene said, sleepily. 

“Don’t remind him!” Remus hissed. “He talks about the damn thing all the time!” 

“Alas, poor Goose, I knew him well!”*** Sirius declared theatrically, spreading his arms out and knocking over an empty wine glass. Dorcas sniggered. 

“God, seems a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? University, I mean,” Lily said. 

“We only graduated in June,” Marlene replied, giving her an incredulous look. 

“I know, I know, but doesn’t it feel like a lot has _happened_ since then?” 

“What, like we’ve grown up?” Dorcas asked. 

“If Remus grew up anymore, he’d be seven-hundred-and-forty-three, give or take a few years,” James quipped. 

“Oh _ha ha_ ,” Remus replied, as his friends laughed. 

“Also can’t believe that of all of us, _you’re_ the one who’s going back to being a student, Rem,” James chuckled. “Planning a lot of wild nights on tequila during freshers week?”

“Absolutely not,” he retorted darkly. 

Lily yawned, stretching out a little more beside James, and the group fell silent, staring up at the sky above them. It was a clear-enough night, but not one for stargazing - London’s light pollution and the height of summer put paid to that idea. The smell of woodsmoke from a thousand summer barbecues hung in the air, mixed with the sweet scent of the honeysuckle that climbed up the house. Vaguely, in the distance, they could hear the sound of children laughing, interspersed with police sirens, and car engines, and every other sound of a city that never really sleeps.

James pulled Lily closer to him, feeling the weight of her head as she rested it upon his chest. His senses were dulled a little by alcohol and a full stomach, but he could smell her shampoo. It was a scent he still couldn’t put his finger on - something floral, mingling with something fresh and crisp. He knotted their fingers together, humming with satisfaction.

James felt Lily’s breathing settle, becoming slow and steady. She snuffled a little, like she always did before falling into a deep sleep, and James smiled. He turned his head to look at his friends, watching each of them in turn. Remus was lying at right-angles to Sirius, his head resting on Sirius’ stomach, his eyes closed. James could see Sirius’ fingers wound through Remus’ golden blonde curls, rising and falling methodically. On his other side, Marlene and Dorcas were laughing softly about something, top-to-tail on another part of the blanket. He caught Dorcas’ eye.

“God, you’re such an old married couple already,” she said, nodding at the slumbering Lily pressed against James’ chest. “Guess you’ve earned it though, after it took you long enough to get together.”

“I was taking it slow!” exclaimed James, as gently as he could so as not to wake Lily. “It would have helped if my friends had given me some useful advice in the process, I’ll admit.” 

“Remember when Moony told you to _be yourself_?” Sirius asked. His voice floated through the air, a little slurred from drink and the increasing grip of sleep. “Terrible advice.” 

“Why, what did you think he should do?” Marlene asked.

“I had a number of suggestions, but numero uno was _not that_.” 

“I’ll ignore that remark, Padfoot,” James said wryly, to his friends’ laughter. 

James looked down at the girl sleeping on his chest. He threaded his fingers through her russet hair, marvelling as it caught the little light that was emanating from the candles. She was tucked up so close to him, he could count the freckles across her face, constellations in a galaxy. 

_He loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her._

 

 

* * *

*Ally Pally is a nickname for Alexandra Palace, a landmark in the Muswell Hill/Wood Green area in London, where I imagine the gang are living. I actually think it’s a very unattractive building, but people like it, I guess.

**Claremont Square is a real place, and where they filmed for Grimmauld Place. Interestingly, it is very near Cruikshank Street, Percy Circus, Vernon Square, and Joseph Grimaldi Park. Notice anything? ;) (turns out growing up in London is quite useful for writing HP fanfic?)

***A play on the line from Hamlet that everyone always quotes wrong: “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root


	4. Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marauders have a cute breakfast dance-off, Sirius reveals to Umbridge he's gay, and then starts his new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I drank a bottle of wine tonight and forgot to post because apparently I relate to the Marauders more than I thought. 
> 
> ROGUE LOCKHART ALERT. Not sorry, once again. 
> 
> Free Your Mind is a song by one of my absolute fave soul bands, the James Hunter Six. It’s about religion, and how you shouldn’t try to scare people into believing things.

“Why do you look so sad?” Remus asked, eyeing Sirius over the top of his cup as he sloped into the room. The radio was playing in the background, and the kitchen smelled like fresh coffee. James and Remus were sitting at the wooden table, the former gulping down his second bowl of cornflakes and the latter nibbling on a piece of toast.

“I was hungry last night and got really excited for breakfast but I woke up and I’m not really hungry anymore,” Sirius sighed. 

James snorted into his cereal bowl, and emerged coughing as Remus smacked him on the back. He was about to reply when a car horn blared outside, distracting them. Sirius leant over the sink to peer through the small window and down at the street.

“Anything fun?” Remus asked.

“Nah,” Sirius replied, returning to filling the kettle. “It’d be helpful if cars came with like, a specific honk for go-fuck-yourself, another for hey-I’m-outside, and a third for slow-down-so-I-can-Shazam-that-song.” 

Remus and James laughed.

“Definitely a million pound idea, that one,” James chuckled. 

“Stranger things have happened. Anyway, what have you melons got planned today?” Sirius asked, flicking the kettle on and reaching for a mug.

“Well, I need to go to the library to get some books so I can get reading for when lectures start,” Remus said. He held out his mug towards Sirius, who took it, setting it on the side next to his own. 

“I’m going to go and pick up some new shirts, I washed all my white ones with a red handkerchief by accident, and now they’re all pink. Not going to be a great look if I walk into my new job on Wednesday with blotchy pink shirts.” James made a face. 

“Weird that your job starts on a Wednesday,” Sirius mused, pouring water from the kettle into his and Remus’ mugs. “More coffee, Jem?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” James said, shaking his head. “How about you, excited for your first day at work?”

“Wildly,” Sirius replied drily.

“Where is the gallery, again?” 

“Near Russell Square, so I’ll get the Tube.” Sirius leant back against the counter, and sipped his coffee with a satisfied sigh.

Remus looked at him. Sirius had agreed to have his hair cut before his new job started, so it was neatly cropped at the back, the curls still long on the top and pushed back from his face. He wore a navy tweed waistcoat, impeccably tailored, over a crisp white shirt and tie. He had on a pair of dark blue suit trousers over glossy brown leather shoes, and every inch of him screamed elegance and status and confidence. I’d be jealous if I weren’t so attracted to him, Remus thought. 

James stood, moving his cereal bowl to the sink. 

“Are those new?” he asked, pointing to Sirius’ shoes. 

“Indeed they are,” Sirius said, twirling one foot. “Nice, right?” 

“You and your bloody shoes,” Remus laughed. “You’ve got more than the girls!”

“False!” Sirius held up a finger. “More than Marlene and Dorcas, absolutely. More than Lily? Not a chance.” 

“He’s not wrong,” said James. “She took eight pairs on holiday, and we were only gone for a week!”

“Absolute _tune_ ,” Sirius said suddenly, pushing himself upright. He walked over to the other side of the room, and turned the volume up on the radio. The infectious sound of soul flew out of the slightly-tinny speakers, the brass full and rich, the beat of the drums catching. 

“God I love this song!” James exclaimed. 

“C’mon, Rem,” Sirius laughed, taking Remus by the hand and attempting pull him out of his chair as the other boy protested. 

And so it came to be on that Monday morning that the Marauders found themselves dancing around the kitchen at seven AM: James, in his dressing gown, playing the air-saxophone, with Remus and Sirius doing the twist. Remus couldn’t hide the grin on his face, no matter how he tried, as Sirius puled him close, kissing him upon the nose with relish, before spinning him round wildly in time for the chorus. 

The song came to an end, and Sirius checked his watch, sighing.

“Unfortunately, lads, I’ve got to get going. Daddy’s got to go to work to bring home the bacon.” 

“Call yourself Daddy in my presence again and I’ll punch you in the face,” James said, cringing. 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Sirius said, laughing heartily. He clapped James on the back, and winked at Remus, gesturing to the hall.

“Go smash your new job!” James yelled at their backs as they left the room. 

Almost immediately upon leaving the kitchen, Sirius leant in, pushing Remus against the wall. He kissed his temple for a moment, huffing out a laugh upon hearing Remus’ satisfactory sigh as his nose was buried into Sirius’ aftershave cold neck. Pulling away, Sirius kissed Remus briefly. 

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Sirius said, his lips brushing against Remus’ as he spoke.

“Guess you will,” Remus replied. “Go smash your first day, like Prongs says.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Sirius mock saluted, grabbing his suit jacket from the hooks by the door, and leaving the flat. 

Sirius scampered down the stairs, taking them two-at-a-time. He pulled open the heavy black front door, and stepped into the glorious sunshine. They were having an Indian summer, that’s for sure, as August bled into September, and the good weather seemed to go on forever. Sirius could hear the sound of a lawnmower, intermingled with the shouts from the playground of the local school on the next road. 

Sirius crossed the road, enjoying the feel of the sunshine upon his face. As he passed number 26, he saw Dolores Umbridge weeding. Bizarre time to be gardening, he thought, checking his watch and noting it was only just after seven. As he did so, out the corner of his eye, he saw the woman notice him, and stand up. 

“Oh, good morning,” Umbridge simpered. Sirius stopped, pulling his sunglasses off to look at her.

“Morning, Dolores,” he said, mentally congratulating himself for remembering her name. 

“Off anywhere exciting?” she asked. 

“First day at work!” Sirius smiled. 

“Good luck! How’s your friend?” Umbridge continued. 

“My friend? I didn’t know you’d run into James!”

“James?” Umbridge frowned. “No, no, the young man who I met with you the other day! Was his name Richard?” 

“Oh, you mean _Remus_ ,” Sirius said, smiling indulgently. “He’s my boyfriend, actually.” 

The look on her face said everything. 

“You mean…” she trailed off.

“We’re two men in a loving and committed relationship? Absolutely correct.” 

“I see,” Umbridge breathed, turning a colour of puce that matched her hideous Angora sweater quite remarkably.  
  
“Anyway, I won’t keep you, Dolores, as I’m sure you’re incredibly busy. You have a great day, ok?” Sirius grinned, and winked at her. Then, sliding his sunglasses back on, he sauntered off, throwing his jacket over one shoulder and stuffing the other hand into his pocket. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her still standing here, watching him as he walked. _Cantankerous old bitch_ , he thought.

* * *

Standing in front of the gallery an hour later, Sirius was feeling somewhat less confident than he had been upon leaving the house that morning. It was an understated shopfront, done up in a matt-green paint. Gold lettering stood proud against the green, spelling out in minimalist lettering the word “Zabini’s”. Sirius sighed, mentally steeling himself, and pushed open the door. 

Inside was clearly a gallery space, filled with carefully selected pieces of art. On both Sirius’ left and right were pieces hung on the walls, from artists he’d only ever read about, never had the opportunity to see in the flesh. His heart raced as he glanced at them, exhilarated by the idea that this was _his_ job, _his_ space. Down the middle of the room, sculptures stood at intervals, some ancient, some modern. 

Almost immediately as he walked in, a young man bounded out from behind a desk to Sirius’ right. He was attractive, Sirius supposed, in a sort-of boyish, peaches-and-cream type way: blond hair, blue eyes, winning smile. As he approached, he moved theatrically, throwing his head back and casting his golden hair away from his face. When he spoke, his voice was that of a thespian; consonants were short and sharp, with the vowels thick and luxurious. 

“You must be Mr Black!” 

“That’s me.” 

“I’m Gilderoy Lockhart,” the young man said, flashing Sirius a startlingly white smile. “I’m Madame Zabini’s personal assistant.”

Don’t like the way he said _personal_ , Sirius thought. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Sirius said, offering a hand. Lockhart took it, squeezing his fingers unnecessarily hard. 

“Hopefully you got here ok? I saw from your CV that you didn’t go to university in London, so if you ever need someone to show you around, by all mean, _please_ ask.”

“I actually grew up here,” Sirius said, smile still plastered to his face, “but I appreciate the offer.” 

“Come this way, won’t you? Madame Zabini said to bring you through as soon as you got here.” 

Lockhart led him to the back of the gallery, and opened a door marked private. Behind it lay a narrow corridor, with various black doors off of it, and a narrow staircase at the end. As they made their way down the corridor and up the stairs, Sirius’ guide spoke. 

“I’m sure you’re very nervous,” Lockhart said breezily, “but don’t worry, I’ll help you out with anything you need. Of course, I wasn’t trained in art collection, but it’s one of those things that just comes so _naturally_ , you know?” 

“Right,” Sirius said, “er, thanks.” 

“You mustn’t think one is overstepping the mark, of course,” Lockhart continued, almost as though Sirius hadn’t spoken at all. “I _obviously_ bow to Madame Zabini’s superior knowledge.” 

“Obviously,” Sirius intoned, cringing. 

The two approached the end of the upper corridor, and Lockhart knocked twice on a set of double doors. 

“ _Viens ici!_ ” came a voice from behind them, and Lockhart gestured Sirius through. 

The office was darker than Sirius had expected, with great moss-coloured velvet drapes at the windows, closed against the morning sunlight. The walls were panelled in a deep, rich mahogany; they were surprisingly bare for the office of an art collector. Classical music played quietly in the background, and the smell of some kind of incense - musky, heady - filled Sirius’ nostrils. 

A woman sat behind a large, ornately-carved desk. She was breathtaking, Sirius thought, realising his assumption that the voice that had interviewed him over the phone belonged to a Miss Haversham, a prissy maiden collector with wrinkles and weak, watery eyes. This woman was exquisitely beautiful, her cheekbones high and her skin rich and dark, accompanied by lidded-eyes and full lips. Her hair, in all its curls and spirals, was coiled up atop her head in a quiff. About her neck was a necklace, bejewelled with stone Sirius recognised as opals, glittering in the half-light. 

“Sirius Black,” she purred in a decidedly French accent, and stood up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally. Our conversation over the phone was… _most illuminating_.” 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Sirius said politely. 

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” Madame Zabini, barely looking at the blond boy who bowed excessively, and backed out of the room. 

“You will excuse my assistant,” she said ruefully, gesturing to the seat across from her. “He is a little… _overenthusiastic_.” 

“So I gathered,” Sirius chuckled, sitting down. “Has he been here long?” 

“Eh,” Madame Zabini shrugged, “six months? He came with a very impressive record; spent a lot of time, as he puts it, _gadding_ around, voyaging for a year between the art houses of Europe. All entirely fiction, of course, but…” She trailed off, lazily holding up a hand with the palm turned to the ceiling, as though to ask, _what can you do_?

“Well, he looks good on the front desk, I suppose,” Sirius said wickedly, almost instinctively, and panic shot through him at the thought that perhaps that hadn’t been the wisest thing to say five minutes into his first day. Madame Zabini, however, laughed heartily, and turned to the computer in front of her. 

“So,” she said finally. “Your CV says you have a first class degree in art history. You interned at the Courtauld Gallery for a summer between school and university, which seems _extraordinaire_ considering your age.”

“My uncle,” Sirius said, although went no further. He had a sneaking suspicion that Madame Zabini knew exactly who he was, but he wasn’t going to proffer too much. 

“Ah! It all comes down to who you know, of course,” she continued. 

Sirius smiled indulgently, but was unsure how to reply. Madame Zabini was silent a moment longer, looking at the computer screen. 

“Come with me,” she said, suddenly. Sirius hastily got to his feet. She moved quickly, gliding out of the double doors and down the corridor almost before Sirius had the opportunity to follow her. The pair of them made their way quickly down the stairs and out to the front gallery space. 

“Madame Zabini!” Lockhart said, standing up and hurrying round the desk. “Is there something you need? Perhaps I could-“  


“Not now, Gilderoy,” she said crossly, wafting him away with her hand as though he were an irritating fly. 

Madame Zabini walked across to an easel, covered in a dust sheet. It was tucked to one side slightly, away from the rest of the pieces on display in the main gallery. Lockhart loitered awkwardly behind them, as though unsure as to whether to remain or to scurry back to behind his front desk. 

“Look at this,” Madame Zabini said, pulling the cover off the piece so Sirius could get a good look at it. “What do you think?”

Riotous colour met Sirius’ eyes, and he recognised it immediately. Saying nothing, he looked from the painting to his new employer, and then back again.

“This,” Madame Zabini said, “arrived yesterday. A little test for you, on your first day. Tell me about it.”

Sirius grinned. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Madame Zabini shrugged.

“Provenance, and perhaps what you’d ask for a piece like this.”

Sirius stepped forward and examined the painting. 

“Baya Mahieddine,” he said. “One of her _Femmes Portant Des Coupes_. Beautiful work, really, and the sapphic imagery is something to behold. I wrote my dissertation about her, at university - fascinating woman. This might have made an absolute fortune at auction.” 

“Might have?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, straightening up and turning to face Madame Zabini, “it’s a copy. A good one, but a copy.” 

Madame Zabini smiled like the cat that had the cream.

“Excellent,” she said. “Abraxas Malfoy purchased it overseas, and asked me to value it. Offered to sell it to me, if I thought it was worth it.” 

“Ah,” Sirius said, “Abraxas Malfoy. Hopefully you didn’t mention it was me who as going to be valuing it.” 

“ _Quoi_?”**  
  
“You’re telling me you hired me without even a cursory Google, Madame Zabini?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. “Then again, if you’re brushing up against Abraxas Malfoy on the regular, I’d hazard a a guess that you know who I am.”

Madame Zabini chuckled throatily.  
  
“I knew the name, of course. I also knew that Orion and Walburga Black had an older son who was estranged from them, so it was easy to - how do you say? _Put two-and-two together._ Your parents have a collection I’d kill to get my hands on.”

From the look in her eye, Sirius didn’t actually think she was joking. 

“So,” she shrugged, “it’s mutually beneficial. You get a job learning from the best, and I get an employee who can tell me how to get the Earl of Grimmauld to give up some of his collection.”

“Mutually beneficial,” Sirius repeated, slowly.

“Why is it you’re estranged from your parents?” 

“They’re not really into me shagging men, as it happens,” Sirius said awkwardly. 

“But you’ll be right at home here! Gilderoy has been desperate for a date since I hired him. Perhaps…” Madame Zabini raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. 

Sirius chuckled.

“I’m afraid I’m already taken. And, no offence, even if I weren’t… Lockhart’s not exactly my type.”

“It probably would help if I gave him a pay rise, I suppose,” she said in an undertone, glancing over to where Lockhart sat. "Money makes men significantly more interesting, don’t you think?”

“If that’s your kind of thing.”

“And it is not yours?” she looked at him appraisingly. 

“No,” Sirius chuckled, “I prefer intellect. _That_ makes men interesting.” 

“You and I, Sirius Black,” Madame Zabini said, wagging her forefinger with its long, emerald coloured nail at him, “will get on splendidly. Now, _allons-y._ We have work to do.”***

 

 

* * *

* “Viens ici” means “come here”.

** “Quoi” means “what”.

*** “Allons-y” means “let’s go”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always thought that Madame Zabini (still thinking of a first name, seeing as we’re not supplied one) was a badass, considering the five husbands and their mysterious deaths (and even though she was certainly a Slytherin and I am aggressively a Gryffindor ;) ). I kind of see her like that person we all know who’s unashamedly self-interested, but never intentionally malicious, as long as you take them at face value. Will be interesting to see Sirius explore that part of his personality, anyway. Plus, it gives me an excuse to bring the Slytherins back into the picture… because it can’t all be kittens and rainbows, kids. 
> 
> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six


	5. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfstar are cute, Jily are cute, Snape is weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY it's late. Real life has been wild recently. 
> 
> Did you really think Snape wasn't returning? C'mon, I live for the drama.

“Right, we’re off,” James said, emerging from his bedroom with Lily in tow. They were dressed up,James in a dark blue shirt and tan chinos, while Lily looked elegant in a bottle-green dress, nipped at the waist, with her red hair flowing. 

“ _Great_ dress, Lily,” Remus said. 

“Thank you!” She twirled around, her dress fanning out. 

“Where ya off to?” Sirius asked. He looked back at them from where he was lolling in an armchair. 

“Going to that Italian place in Chalk Farm, you know the one.” 

“I swear you only eat Italian food.”

“I just love pasta!” James said, shrugging on his jacket. 

“Should have seen him when we went to Florence,” Lily laughed, “he was in his _element_.”

“Well, we’ll see you later then,” James smiled, raising a hand and offering the other arm to Lily.

“Have fun!” Sirius called to their retreating backs. 

“I feel like a kid whose parents are going out,” Remus chuckled, glancing up as Lily and James pulled the front door shut behind them. 

The two boys fell into a comfortable silence, and Remus returned to his book. Sirius watched him, the way his forehead creased in concentration, and his reading glasses slipped down his nose. Outside, the night had drawn in, and a brisk wind rattled against the window pane. Sirius looked up at it, pondering for a moment, messing with the nap on the arm of the chair. 

“You think we’ll ever have kids?” he said, breaking the silence.

“Hate to break it to you, Sirius,” Remus replied drily, not looking up from his book, “but that’s not how biology works.” 

“No, I _know_ ,” Sirius sighed, getting up out of his armchair and walking over to where Remus sat. He plucked the book from the other boy’s hands, ignoring Remus’ cry of protest, and stretched out across the sofa, his head in Remus’ lap. 

“Don’t be sassy when I’m trying to communicate my feelings towards you,” Sirius said, looking up through his dark eyelashes. 

“You’re right,” Remus said, a little bashfully. “Sorry.” 

He ran his fingers over Sirius’ forehead, brushing the curls back. 

“You’re cute, you know that, Black?”

“Not so bad yourself, Lupin.”

“Say we did have a kid,” Remus said. “What would we call them?”

“Hmm,” mused Sirius. “Well, I’m preemptively nixing anything remotely related to the Black family and our heinous naming traditions. There’ll be no baby Vulpecula, thanks.” 

“Thank _God_ ,” Remus replied.

“Surely there must be some gems from your side of the family?” 

“Actually,” Remus said, “my uncle was great. Edward. Used to go by Teddy.” 

“Teddy Lupin,” Sirius said, toying with the words. 

“Surely it’d be Teddy Lupin-Black?”

“Hard no,” Sirius shuddered. “Regulus can carry on the family name if he wants, but I’m not saddling a kid with it.” 

Remus said nothing for a moment, instead continuing to run his fingers across Sirius' forehead. His dark eyes slipped closed. They snapped open again as Remus spoke.

“You know we’d have the two-dads-what-to-call-them issue, right?”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Moony, we can think of something. You’d be Dad. You’d suit being Dad.” 

“What would you be? Papa? Pater? Father Dearest?” teased Remus.

“ _No_ ,” Sirius replied, “I’d obviously be _Dadfoot._ ”

Remus laughed - a hearty, genuine, from-the-belly laugh that was infectious, causing Sirius to break out into an equal grin. They looked at each other, dark eyes meeting hazel ones. 

“Dadfoot,” Remus chuckled. “Well, that’s certainly an option.”

“Maybe I should get a puppy, practice a bit.” Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Remus recognised the look on his face, the look he got when he was coming up with some batshit insane plan. 

“God damn,” Remus growled. “If you get a puppy, I will _kill you_.”

“It’s at times like these I miss Goose,” Sirius said morosely.

“God, don’t remind me,” muttered Remus. “I still have nightmares about that sodding lobster.” 

“Still can’t believe you got rid of him.”   
  
“Ok, look,” Remus said, pausing and removing his fingers from where he’d been threading them through Sirius’ hair. He began to count on his hand. “First, that lobster wasn’t really yours; you stole him. Second, he was horrible; he bit you every time you picked him up, the way he scuttled was awful, and he smelt horrendous. And _thirdly_ , he grew at such an alarming rate that even you would have been bankrupt by now, given how expensive the tanks were. Why on earth would you want him?” 

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Sirius replied breezily, reaching up and pushing Remus’ hand back to his head. 

“Yeah, and yours has never made sense.” 

“Fell for you though, didn’t it?” Sirius quipped.

“Well-“ Remus stuttered, turning red. 

“Just something to remember, Mr Lupin.” Sirius sat up, and swung his legs onto the floor so he was sitting next to Remus. He laid a hand on his leg. “Wanna come have a bubble bath? I want to perfect my bubble beard.” 

* * *

“You look beautiful, you know that?” James said, as the waiter walked away with their empty plates. They were in a booth in the window of the restaurant, a light drizzle pattering against the glass. A bottle of wine sat between them, and soft candlelight caused shadows to dance across the green glass.

Lily blushed. 

“Thank you,” she replied, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. 

“I mean it,” James continued, “you look amazing. Not just the dress, although-“ he glanced down at her décolletage, winking, “that does look fantastic.” 

“Behave,” Lily groaned good-naturedly. 

“What I mean is,” James pushed up his sleeves and rested his elbows on the table, “you look relaxed. Happy. I know it’s been a stressful time recently, what with starting the new job and… your sister.” 

“Yeah,” Lily sighed, “I can’t believe they’re getting married this weekend, Petunia and Vernon. My mother begged her to even let me come and just sit at the back of the church, but she wouldn’t have it. Said I’d ruin it.”

Lily looked down at James’ hands on the table, tears welling up uncharacteristically. She felt the burn in her throat and swallowed, pushing down the sorrow. 

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to ruin anything,” James murmured, stretching a hand out and taking hers. 

“You have such faith in me.”

James shrugged.

“I was lost until I found you,” he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Hard not to have faith in you after the way you changed my life.” 

“You know,” Lily replied gently, “for a boy who I once thought was a total toe rag, you’ve got me hook, line and sinker, James Potter.” 

James beamed. 

“I’m full of surprises, me.” 

“Yes, you are,” Lily chuckled. She lifted her hand and ran a thumb over the corner of James’ mouth. “You also have tomato on your face.” 

“You thought I was a toe rag?” James took a sip of wine. 

“Well,” Lily laughed, “I thought you were immature. Just cared about drinking and showing off, that sort of thing. Got quite a dressing down from my friends about it, actually.” 

“Really?" James frowned. “I didn’t know that. Well, I knew you thought I was a dick, but I didn't realise your friends didn't.” 

“Oh, yeah. Marlene and Dorcas had a bet about how long it would take for you and I to get together.” 

“Who won the bet?”

“Marlene,” Lily chuckled. “She thought I’d say yes the first time. Got fifty quid out of Dorko for it.” 

“Well,” James laughed, and raised his wine glass in a mock-toast, “I’m pleased to know Marlene’s got such faith in me.”

"She's not the only one," returned Lily, raising her eyebrows and taking a sip of her own wine. 

Had Lily and James been able to take their eyes off of each other, they might have glanced out of the window. Had they glanced out of the window, they might - just _might_ \- have noticed a figure standing on the opposite side of the road, leaning against a lamppost and watching them intently. Through the damp, dark September evening, with the light wind whipping the first of the fallen leaves up into the air, they might not have recognised the figure. The figure, however, most certainly recognised them.

Snape stared. It was by pure coincidence that he had decided to walk this way home; he’d not been able to leave the laboratory at lunch, and had been craving some fresh air, choosing the long route. He knew what awaited him when he returned home: Mulciber and Avery, probably drunk, and possibly some of his university friends. So, he had chosen to meander his way back to the great terraced house, only glancing up at the restaurant on the other side of the road. Of course, he’d not expected to see that shock of red hair, that creamy complexion, that girl who had once been his and was no more. 

Rage filled him. She was _his_. Not Potter’s. _His_. She’s always been his. Sure, they’d not spoken since before Christmas during their final year at university, nearly twelve months previously, but what did that matter? He’d followed her movements on social media, of course - the profile picture changes, the Instagrams of her new flat, irritatingly without a location tag, and the tweets about feminism and international development (he’d sneered at those). He knew who she lived with. He knew she’d got a job working for a charity. Knew that she was still hanging around with Potter, and Black, and that Lupin boy that made Snape’s hairs stand on end.Knew that she’d kept up with so many of their university cohort that had moved to London - the Prewett twins, Amelia Bones, Emmeline Vance, all names he recognised. 

And here she was, on a September evening, sitting across the table from a boy Snape couldn’t even bear to look at. Perfect Potter, with his good looks and his charm, his money and his oozing self-confidence. Snape watched as Lily laughed at something James said, carefree as he’d ever seen her. Her joy was palpable - unfettered, unbound, practically storming through the glass and towards him. Snape felt bile rise in his throat as James stretched a hand across the table, tucking a piece of Lily’s hair behind her ear and running a hand over one cheek. 

He didn’t know how long had he stood there, hungrily drinking it in. He fed on the sight of them, watching how they seemed so easy with each other, the angry beast in his chest swelling. The look on James’ face was curious: every word Lily said seemed to light him up, make him laugh sincerely or think wondrously or feel deeply. It made Snape see, for the first time, that James _was_ in love with her. It couldn’t be the same kind of love - Snape was convinced of that, convinced that no man could love Lily Evans on the same _intellectual_ level that he did. Yet, there was a niggle of something at the back of his mind - jealously, of course, but also regret, that perhaps if he had treated Lily rather more like James did, it might be him sitting across from her in a restaurant on a cold evening, rather than standing outside. 

Lily and James stood, after a while, and donned their coats. Snape stood back into the shadows, careful to ensure he wouldn’t be seen. The pair disappeared from view for a moment, and emerged once more out the door of the restaurant, calling their thanks over their shoulders just loud enough for Snape to hear. He expected them to walk into the distance, or to hail a cab, but instead James glanced up and down the street for a moment before pulling Lily close to him. Snape watched as they kissed fervently, their ardour for one another crackling like electricity in the air. He couldn’t bear it any longer. With one final look, Snape turned on his heel, and walked away. 

* * *

“I’m so full I might die,” Lily groaned, as James slotted his keys into the front door of the flat. He shoved his shoulder against the wood, putting pressure at just the right spot where the door could be encouraged open. James made a mental note - once again - to oil the hinges, knowing full well that he’d forget it in the morning. He motioned Lily inside, and shut the door.

The flat was quiet - Sirius and Remus had obviously gone to bed. A lamp in the hall burned brightly in the darkness. 

“You want tea?” James asked. He glanced over to Lily, watching as she pulled off her coat and scarf. The cold air had left her cheeks pink and rosy, the flush standing out even in the half-light.

“Please,” she replied, slipping off her heels and hanging her coat up. 

James kicked off his shoes, padding into the kitchen. He filled the kettle, flicking it on and turning round to survey Lily as she followed him into the room. Self-doubt battled with adoration in his mind as he watched her wander over to him and pull her hair into a messy bun atop her head. 

“Look…” James faltered, his face uncharacteristically serious. 

“What?” Lily asked, perplexed. She approached where he leant against the kitchen cabinet, and laid a hand on his chest. The touch seemed to embolden him, and James took a deep breath. 

“I love you. I know I’ve not really said it… properly before, but I do. I love you. I’m mad, completely mad, for you. I’d do _this_ -“ he gestured round the kitchen with a hand, “with you for the rest of my life.” 

“ _This_?” Lily mimicked his gesture. 

“You know… dinner, and coming home, and making tea, and listening to talk all evening about everything you’re passionate about. Putting the world to rights with you over spaghetti and tiramisu. You. Just you,” James finished lamely, his words barely more than a whisper. 

The weight of those words hung in the air between the two of them for a moment, heavy and huge. James couldn’t decipher her, that fiery look she was giving him. Lily Evans, always the enigma, he thought. 

“Good thing I want all that as well, then, isn’t it?” she asked finally. Lily wrapped her arms around James’ neck, lacing her fingers together as he rested his hands on her waist. “Good thing I love you, too.” 

“Good thing,” James grinned back at her. 

“You mean it? You want me and all _this_?” Lily asked, her eyes flicking from his to his lips and back again. 

_“Until the very end_ ,” James whispered, pulling her close. 

Then, he was kissing her, pouring his heart and soul into it. Tea forgotten, just the two of them standing in their stocking feet in the kitchen in the middle of the night, the kiss seemed to go on for eternity. Eventually, they pulled apart. 

“Come to bed,” Lily murmured against James’ lips, and there it was again, that hard, blazing look that James now so easily understood. 

As they passed the door to Sirius and Remus’ room, they heard voices. 

“Rem, can you imagine if ducks threw bread back at us? Like a duck inception?”

“Sirius, shut the fuck up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shelter is an exquisite song. I’m a huge Dermot Kennedy fan. Basically perfect for James and Lily going on a date and being adorable but then also being creeped on by Snape (I still hate him, thanks).
> 
> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy


	6. On The Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang go on a night out, and debrief at lunch the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a cute little muddle-y chapter, as the shit is about to hit the proverbial fan soon. Plus, I needed an excuse to get Hestia back in the picture ;)

“We’re going out tonight.”

“Sirius, how can you be thinking about alcohol at seven in the morning?” 

“We’re going out, Remus, and I won’t take no for an answer!”

“Morning, dickheads,” James said, as he strolled into the kitchen. “What are we fighting about this fine Friday?”

“Sirius wants to go out tonight,” Remus replied, rolling his eyes. 

“ _Excellent_ plan, Padfoot!” 

“No!” Remus said, eyes wide. “Not excellent! Very not excellent!”

“C’mon, Moony,” James said, sliding into the seat beside Remus and reaching over him to pick up a box of cereal. “You’re a student still, you should be wildly up for it.”

“I have an essay due on Monday!”

“Well,” Sirius said deliberately, “you’d best get on and finish it today while the rest of us are work, hadn’t you?”

Remus groaned, and looked from Sirius to James and back again. The pair of them were both sporting what Remus could only term _shit-eating grins_. It was at moments like this when it was impossible _not_ to see why James and Sirius were best friends, why they had a brotherly bond that Peter and Remus had never really been able to intrude upon: they were both, deep down, Remus thought, _total lunatics._

“I honestly thought the two of you might have grown out of egregious alcoholism now you’ve graduated and got proper jobs,” Remus said weakly. Sirius stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in, and sliding it on. 

“No, but I love you too,” he grinned wickedly, kissing Remus firmly on the top of the head, and high-fiving James. 

With that, he was out the door, and gone. 

* * *

It was, Remus reflected, just as he had expected. The bar they’d ended up in was loud and dark, thronged with a heaving mass of people. He, Lily, James, Marlene and Dorcas were squashed into a booth around a somewhat-sticky table, drinks in hand. Sirius had, of course, made his way to the dance floor in the middle of the bar as soon as they’d got drinks.

Sirius was, to put it mildly, pissed as a yak. He’d been even more handsy than usual in the Uber on the way to the bar, taking advantage of the dark and the fact that they’d had the rear seats to themselves. He’d insisted on shot when they’d arrived - black sambucca, much to Remus’ chagrin. 

“Honestly, _what_ is Sirius doing?” Lily asked, frowning at the dance floor. 

Remus looked over to what she was looking at, and bit back a laugh. Sirius had his head thrown back, singing along to the music unashamedly as he danced in time to the music. His dark shirt was practically unbuttoned down to his navel, displaying tantalising glimpses of his many tattoos and chiselled chest. Remus then noted the admiring glances from a number of girls on the dance floor, and felt a jolt of jealousy in his stomach. He unclenched his jaw, and took a sip of his drink.

“You know,” came a voice in his ear, and he turned to see James grinning at him, “you could just go over and dance with him, if you’re that jealous.” 

“I’m not jealous!” Remus spluttered.

“ _Please_ ,” James scoffed. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes, and if looks could kill, that blonde girl would be dead on the dance floor.” 

“Since when has James-Emotionally-Oblivious-Potter been this good at reading people?”

“It’s actually pronounced _Fleamont._ ”

“Oi, look out, and shut up, you two,” Dorcas interrupted them, elbowing Marlene and nodding across the bar. The group looked over to see a tall, dark girl making a very determined beeline for their table. Her long brown hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders, her make up expertly applied, and she sported a sultry grin. 

“Blimey, didn’t realise Hestia was going to be here tonight, Marls!” teased Lily. 

“Neither did I. God, she’s so hot,” Marlene muttered, swallowing a great gulp of her drink out of nerves.

Hestia approached the table, glancing only briefly at the others before fixing her eyes on Marlene. Remus and Dorcas shared a look, the latter rolling her eyes slightly as she ran a hand over her hair, which she had left down in all its coils and texture for the evening. 

“Hey!” said Marlene, lifting her hand into an awkward wave and knocking Dorcas’ drink in the process. It would have been all over the other girl’s lap if it weren’t for James’ quick reflexes, grabbing at the glass and lifting it out of the way. 

“Been a while, McKinnon,” Hestia purred, watching their charade.

“Yeah, it has been,” Marlene replied, feigning casualness as she drained the last of her drink, while simultaneously blushing red to her roots with embarrassment. 

“You look like you could do with another,” Hestia nodded towards the now-empty glass. “Want to come get a top-up?”

“Sure,” Marlene smiled, sliding out from behind the table. She glanced over her shoulder only briefly, smiling at her friends, before being lost in the throng of people. 

“Bets on Marls getting laid tonight,” Dorcas grinned, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Wouldn’t even be a fair bet,” laughed Remus. 

The two of them looked over to the other side of the booth, where James and Lily were kissing ardently. Remus looked at Dorcas as she surveyed them dispassionately. 

“Dorko, wanna come dance with Sirius?” Remus asked, jerking his head toward the dance floor as he glanced at Lily and James out the corner of his eye.

“ _Yes_ ,” Dorcas groaned. “God, I hate being single with you lot around.” 

“Rude!” Lily said, breaking away from James just for a moment. 

“They,” said Remus, pointing at Lily and James, “are infinitely worse than Sirius and I. When was the last time we had PDA like that?” 

“Well, hopefully it won’t be this evening,” Dorcas said, pulling him out of his seat. “C’mon, let’s leave the lovebirds to it.” 

Dorcas and Remus pushed their way onto the dance floor, leaving Lily and James in their wake. 

“Rem, my love!” Sirius said, as they approached, and planted a slightly-sloppy kiss on Remus’ lips. Out the corner of his eye, Remus saw the blonde girl who’d been eyeing Sirius up look slightly crestfallen. He grinned in spite of himself. 

“And Dorko, lovely Dorko,” Sirius continued, pulling Dorcas into a bone-crushing hug. 

“And how are _you_ , Black?” Dorcas asked, as she began to dance. 

“I’m feeling tremendously groovy, Dorcas,” Sirius said, taking one of her hands and spinning her round. She laughed, her deep umber eyes glittering. 

“Surprised you haven’t been making some new friends,” Remus added drily, nodding toward another group of girls who had been watching Sirius appreciatively.

“Jealous, are we, Remus Lupin?” Sirius moved in close, his body swaying in time to the music. Remus glanced down at Sirius’ lips, curved into that trademark smirk, tantalisingly close to his own. 

“Don’t make me go back and sit with James and Lily,” Dorcas warned, drawing them from their reverie. 

“Speaking of, where are Prongs and Evans?” asked Sirius.

“Back at the table, getting acquainted with each others’ tonsils,” Dorcas replied, nodding toward the table and rolling her eyes. The three of them looked over to see James and Lily still firmly attached at the mouth. 

“We had to leave before we became voyeurs,” added Remus. 

“That’s what rampant heterosexuality will do to you,” Sirius shrugged. 

“Don’t be rude,” Dorcas laughed, poking Sirius in the side.

“What do I always say, Dorko? I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual.” 

“Good thing you achieve neither then, isn’t it?” she winked back. 

“I’d respond with something sassy,” Sirius said, throwing his arms round both of them, “but this song is a _tune_.” 

* * *

The night had ended when Remus realised Sirius was falling asleep on his feet. Marlene had already left earlier, winking at them as she grabbed her jacket and exited the bar, hand-in-hand with Hestia. The rest of them bundled into a taxi, Sirius _insisting_ that if he didn’t have chicken nuggets immediately, he was going to die, and made their way back to Caraway Street.

Sirius was leaning against the wall outside the flat, humming under his breath. Remus slotted the keys into the door, hefting his body against the wood in order to shove the door open. It gave way, and the door swung open. 

“Can you please go and have a shower?” Remus pushed Sirius into the flat, in the direction of the bathroom, as he swayed slightly. “You’re too sweaty to get into bed. Promise I’ll make you food when you get out.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” Sirius huffed, and wandered into the bathroom, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him. 

“God, he’s such a nightmare,” James laughed, kicking off his shoes.

“Like you can talk!” Lily scoffed. “Remember that house party where you nearly got in a fight and then threw up in a hedge? All while shouting “I could take them”?”

“I stand by that statement,” James said, making a face at her as they slumped down onto the sofa.

“Does anyone else feel _old_?” Lily complained, stretching out her legs onto James’ lap. 

“Aggressively so, yes,” Remus sighed, following them into the sitting room. He wandered over to the corner of the room, where Sirius had set up his record player and vinyls. Remus rifled through them for a moment, before picking one out. Soon enough, he had placed the record on the turntable, and gentle strumming began. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the heady feeling of alcohol draining from them, all too soon to be replaced with the welcome grasp of sleep. 

“You look as old as you feel, Rem, coming home and immediately putting a record on,” laughed James. “Music this evening wasn’t up to scratch?” 

“Like you can talk, I don’t think either of you can remember what was being played tonight, can you?” Remus asked, flopping into an armchair and raising his eyebrows. Lily blushed, but James grinned back at him defiantly. 

“Says Mr Jealous,” he teased. “I can’t believe _Moony_ got territorial.”

“I did not get territorial!” 

“Please, you could barely stop looking at old Padfoot all night!”

“Speaking of, I should get him out the shower before our water bill is insane,” Remus muttered, standing up and walking over to bathroom door. 

“Sirius has always loved spending hours in the shower,” James said. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t grow gills.” 

“Oi, Sirius!” Remus called, knocking on the bathroom door. “Hurry up so we can eat, you total lush!” 

There was an enormous crash from behind the door, followed by Sirius swearing. Remus glanced over at Lily and James in alarm, before turning back to shout through the wood. 

“Sirius, are you alright?” 

“Remus, don’t come in here!” came the reply. “There’s a moth and it is _not_ hilarious!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Remus muttered, as James and Lily erupted into laughter.

* * *

The next morning saw a bedraggled group of Marauders meet the equally-bedraggled girls outside the front of the house. It was a cool, crisp day, the sunshine only highlighting their worse-for-wear state. Sirius was startlingly pale, and kept running his hands through his hair, sighing dramatically.

“Where are we going?” Marlene asked from behind a pair of huge sunglasses. 

“Let’s go to Hagrid’s,” James said. 

Hagrid’s was a tiny place, which James had stumbled across on his way home from work. The building itself was small and squat, with Tudor beams criss-crossing the front of it. Inside, however, it was bright and welcoming, crammed full of tables. It had a long, low bar running along one wall, and an old, brick Inglenook fireplace at the end. Hagrid manned the bar with his faithful companion, Fang, who had turned out to be the soppiest bloodhound they’d ever met, and they had swiftly become regulars, whether it be for brunch or for drinks.

“Mornin’, all!” Hagrid said cheerfully from behind the wooden bar, as they traipsed in. They returned his greeting in a somewhat more subdued manner, wandering over to their usual spot by the front window. 

“Must he always be so _joyous?_ ” Sirius muttered, as the group settled themselves around the scrubbed wooden table. 

“You look like you’re sufferin’ from a grown-up hangover, Sirius,” Hagrid chuckled, handing them menus. “I’ll get your usual drinks.” 

“My hangover is so grown up it has a mortgage, career and three kids,” Sirius groaned, resting his forehead on the table. 

“Same, babe, same,” Marlene said weakly. 

Hagrid returned swiftly with a tray laden with drinks - orange juice for Sirius, coffees for the girls, tea for James and Remus. They placed their orders, and he left them to it, promising to be back with food as soon as possible, lest Sirius actually collapse. 

“So, come on, Marls,” James said, tapping the tabletop with his hand, earning him a furious look from Sirius. “Fill us in, we’re desperate to know about _your_ night.” 

“Well,” Marlene grinned wickedly, “Hestia left this morning early ‘cus she had brunch plans with friends. I had a _great_ time.” 

“Eyyyyy,” Sirius said, lifting his pint of orange juice to her in toast. 

“C’mon, we need more details than _that_!” pressed Lily, leaning forward and wrapping her hands round her coffee cup.

“Well,” Marlene blushed, “she bought me a drink like you know. And then we just talked for ages. We were messaging over the summer a bit, while I was in Barcelona - she had a bit of a housing crisis after graduating and ended up messaging me to ask if I knew of any flats going in London and… well, we kept messaging.”

“And the non-verbal activities?” asked Sirius, wiggling his eyebrows to the laughter of his companion. 

“What can I say, Black?” Marlene said cooly, but with a twinkle in her eye. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.” 

“Bold of you to call yourself a lady, McKinnon.” 

“Sirius!” exclaimed Remus, but Marlene just laughed and proffered her middle finger at him.

“You think you’ll see her again?” Lily continued. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Marlene shrugged. “I know we were seeing one another for a legitimate hot second at uni, but this time… feels different.” 

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Dorcas said, “but I’ll obviously be raging if I end up being the only single one in this group.” 

“Dorko, isn’t there a man in your life we can ship you with?” Remus asked.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, darkly. 

“Not even a colleague? Surely there has to be some hot dude working in communications?” added James. 

“Honestly, I just _loathe_ everyone I work with.” 

“Why not join an art class?” Lily said. “You love to paint!”

“I’ve thought about it, but I’m really worried about joining a local group and everyone being super friendly, but it turning into some hardcore BDSM group that I can’t extract myself from.”  
  
The table looked at her, collectively perplexed.

“No, just me?” Dorcas continued.  
  
“Dorko,” James said, wiping his mouth, “I just have _so many questions._ ”

Hagrid arrived at that moment, laden with food. Silence fell around the table as they tucked into their brunch, punctuated only with the occasional request to pass the salt, or for someone to remind them what they’d do without bacon, or the odd Sirius-stop-stealing-my-hash-browns-thanks. 

Remus thought about the people whose elbows jostled against his at the table, or whose knees he brushed against. James, who even now, nearly a year later, couldn’t help but look up at Lily every-now-and-then, as though reminding himself that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, that she was here and _his_. Lily, who did exactly the same, looking through her eyelashes back at the boy with the glasses and the messy hair with that cheeky smile. Marlene, throwing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, with that lazy grin as she made what would inevitably be a self-deprecating comment. Dorcas, with all her sardonic wit and her brilliant mind, pulling them all back to earth when they got ahead of themselves. And stupidly, irrationally, unconscionably _handsome_ Sirius. Witty, hot-headed, pugnacious Sirius. _His_ Sirius. 

Family. That’s what Remus thought to himself as they ate: _family_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine


	7. Olalla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A really short vignette of Wolfstar, not particularly relevant to anything else but too cute not to include.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been hectic AF this week, which meant I couldn’t post on Tuesday.
> 
> Basically I wrote this scene, then didn’t have a place to put it… but I liked it too much not to include it. So, here’s just a cute moment.

“Can’t sleep?”

Remus turned, looking over the back of the sofa to see Sirius standing in the doorway of their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. 

“No,” he sighed. “Did the light wake you?”  
  
“No,” Sirius shook his head. “Woke up needing water and realised you’re not there. You want a drink? Tea, or something?”

“If you’re making one, that’d be amazing.” 

“Coming up,” Sirius smiled softly, and padded into the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Sirius walked back into the room, and handed Remus a cup of steaming tea. Remus hummed happily, breathing in the scent and wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He lifted his feet over, allowing Sirius space to sit down.

“Have you thought about, you know, seeing someone about your insomnia? You can’t keep surviving on black coffee, Rem.” 

“I know, I know,” Remus grumbled. 

“Don’t be grumpy,” Sirius chuckled lightly, leaning over and catching Remus’ chin. He ran his thumb over Remus’ lips. “I’m just trying to help.” 

“I know you are,” admitted Remus, planting a swift kiss on Sirius’ hand. “But, if nothing else, at least us both being awake at 3am means we can actually catch up.”

“Catch up?” Sirius frowned, blowing on his tea. 

“You’ve been busy, I’ve been busy,” Remus said, stretching out to rest his feet on Sirius’ lap. He tucked one hand behind his head, and looked at the other boy. “I feel like we’ve barely got to talk beyond you saying that work is ‘good’, and me saying that uni is ‘good’. So, come on, tell me all about it.”

He poked Sirius’ side with one sock-clad foot, and Sirius caught it with his hand, kneading it between his fingers and eliciting a satisfied sigh from Remus. 

“I love it, I really do,” Sirius said. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I do, actually. I get to spend all day looking at this insanely beautiful art, meeting all these artists, getting to know the industry.”

“And your boss? Mrs whatsherface? Zarconi?”

“Zabini. She’s insane,” Sirius said, taking a sip of tea. “Like, certifiably insane, actually. She’s got this potty little secretary who is such a sycophant, it’s unbelievable. She’s also not the kind of person who you’d get on the wrong side of, you know?” 

“Kind of,” replied Remus. He wrinkled his nose up as he spoke, and Sirius’ heart did a little jump at the adorable gesture. 

“You know when you meet someone, and you respect them for the fact that they’re transparent about what they want? But you also wouldn’t go for a beer with them? That’s Madame Zabini. She wants money and luxury, and she’s completely honest about that. Not sure I respect _that_ , per se, but I at least respect her for not hiding it.” 

“Ok, yeah, I see what you mean,” nodded Remus, taking a sip of his drink. “And you think you’ll stay in the job a while then?” 

“Yeah, I think so. She’s said that if she’s impressed with my work, she might even let me curate my own exhibition in the new year!” 

“That’s amazing, Pads!” Remus said, his smile infectious.

“Right? Anyway, how about you? How are you finding the studying and the work, now it’s just you doing it and you’re not surrounded by imbeciles?” Sirius grinned.

“Tsk,” Remus tutted, “I was not surrounded by imbeciles. You and James graduated with first class degrees, just like I did.” 

“I would say that’s due to sheer dumb luck on Jem’s part.”

“And yours?” Remus asked, lifting his mug to his lips.

“I used to flirt with my dissertation supervisor all the time,” Sirius said, a wicked grin on his face. “I think that’s why I got such good marks.”

Remus snorted.

“You literally said he smelt like an actual human foot! What was it you used to call him?”

“Professor Phalanges, what’s your point?” 

Remus scoffed. “You got good marks because you’re smart as hell, and you _love_ art, not because you flirted with Professor Phalanges.” 

“I mean, it can’t have _hurt_.” Sirius grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olalla is this beautiful song that just sort of sums up for me a story and a past, mixed with hopefulness for a future. Would also really recommend Sol by the same artist, but it was too depressing to use for this fic lol. 
> 
> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White


	8. When You Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Lily's walk in the park takes a surprising turn, and Sirius has an extra surprise when they get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Running into your essentially stalker ex is honestly a nightmare come true, isn't it? 
> 
> I've cut this fic down A LOT, but it's still looking like it's going to be 30 chapters (I've got it down from 48?). I'm going to try to upload a bit of a chapter dump this week, just because I have life to deal with the couple weeks after.

October arrived, bringing with it crisp autumn days and foliage in hues of gold and russet. Londoners donned scarves and hats as they scurried about the city, their breath hanging before them in the crisp air. The nights were drawing in, and the residents of 11, Caraway Street were grateful for the warm glow that welcomed them home on cool evenings. They had settled into a routine, a new normal, with jobs and responsibilities that were far removed from their university days, which seemed simultaneously like the distant past, and yet only yesterday. 

One Saturday morning, James and Lily strolled through Alexandra Park, hand-in-hand. Their feet found pathways lined with great, towering lime trees, the heart-shaped leaves beginning to turn from bright, fresh green to yellow and amber. Children laughed heartily as they raced past on bikes and scooters, and James noted Lily’s soft smile as she watched them. He pulled her closer to him, content to wander in comfortable silence through the gently undulating landscape, admiring the view over the city.

They reached the top of a small hill, and James spotted a coffee van, gesturing towards it.

“You want a hot chocolate?” he asked.

“Ooh, yes please!” Lily replied, her eyes lighting up.

“Cream and marshmallows, I presume?” 

“ _Obviously_.” 

James got their drinks, and the pair ensconced themselves on a bench. Lily breathed in the rich aroma of the chocolate and the sweet scent of marshmallows, humming happily. 

“Happy?” James asked with a knowing grin.

“Very,” she beamed back at him, and planted a swift kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for coming for a walk with me, I felt like I had cabin fever all week.”

“It’s the worst feeling that,” replied James, taking a sip of his steaming coffee. “You get all itchy and desperate to just _be outside_ , even for a little while.”

“Exactly! I’m starting to think I need to get out of London for a weekend, but until we can do that, a walk round the park has been a godsend.” 

“Hmm,” James mused, “there’s a thought. Why don’t we go to my parents’ for a weekend? Mum and Dad would love to see you, I’m sure.” 

“You think?” 

Lily thought back to the first time she’d met James’ parents, at his New Year’s party the previous year. She’d arrived a day early with Marlene to help set up, and had been blown away by the huge house that confronted them as they pulled up the drive. It was beautiful, really, in a sort of higgledy-piggledy way; the Cotswold stone was covered in unruly ivy, the bay windows were ever-so-slightly uneven with the age of the building, and the big red front door with its gold lion knocker was more-than-a-little scuffed. It was charming, nonetheless, and charming too were its occupants, who had spilled out as soon as they’d turned off the engine. 

Monty Potter was a loud, jovial man with a thick mop of pure white hair, as unruly as James’. His weathered face was flushed and smiling, and he’d bounded over to the car with far more energy than Lily had expected for a man she knew was in his seventies. He’d pulled her into a bone-crushing hug against his rather-large pot belly, all the while proclaiming how _exciting_ it was to meet her, and how _welcome_ she was at the Potters’. Releasing Lily, he’d given the exact same treatment to Marlene. 

Phe Potter, on the other hand, was a little more restrained in her greeting. She was wearing an artist’s smock, covered in splodges of vibrant colour, with paintbrushes sticking out of the pockets. Her silvery hair, showing only the merest hint of its once-fiery red, was piled atop her head, secured in place by what looked like two pencils. She stood on the front step, laughing at Monty’s enthusiastic antics, with her arms round James and Sirius. 

_My boys_ , Phe would call them, every time she spoke about them. When they had all made their way inside, and Sirius and James had set about making cups of tea and coffee, scampering about the place and dropping sugar cubes all over the floor, her warm brown eyes lit up with laughter. _My boys are always making a mess_ , she would say. Lily had loved every second of it. 

“I’ll let you into a secret,” James said in a mock-whisper, pulling Lily from her memories. He leant close to her ear. “I’m pretty certain my parents like you more than me.” 

Lily laughed, knowing full-well how untrue that was, how longed-for and adored James Potter was. She patted his knee.

“C’mon, let’s go, I’m getting cold on this bench,” she said. 

They began to walk back down the hill, hands wrapped around their hot drinks. The weather had taken a cooler turn, and James thought briefly of the hot soup Remus had promised to have made for their return. His stomach grumbled in anticipation. 

“I’ll ring Mum and Dad tonight,” he said, “and ask them when’s a good date for us to come and visit. Obviously Padfoot will come as well, and that probably means taking Remus, if that’s ok?” 

Lily was about to reply, when she stopped, all the colour draining from her face. James followed the line of her gaze, and felt his cheeks flush red in anger. Walking towards them was a figure he recognised immediately, and James felt his stomach drop. 

“Severus?” Lily said, frowning. 

Snape’s head snapped up, and a myriad of emotions flitted across his face. He came to a stop. His eyes darted from Lily to James and then back again, and something in them flashed dark and dangerously. 

“Lily,” Snape replied awkwardly, glancing at James momentarily. “Potter.”

“Snape.” Jame stared at the other boy coldly, his chin jutting up almost-defiantly. 

“How… how are you?” Lily asked haltingly. 

“Fine,” came Snape’s cool reply. “You?”

“Yeah, not too bad.” Lily attempted a smile, but it was convincing no one. “We just thought we’d come for a walk, been cooped up in the house too much this week.” 

“You’re living together?” Snape’s lip curled.

“Problem with that?” James interrupted harshly, before Lily could reply. She laid a warning hand on his arm. 

“We’re not living together, no, just next-door,” Lily explained cooly. 

“How… _cosy_ ,” intoned Snape. The contempt was evident in his voice, and James felt his anger surge.

“Do you have to be so condescending all the time? Why don’t you just fuck off?” James snapped. 

“I see you’re just as much of a thug as you were at university, Potter.” 

“And you’re just as much of a dick.” 

“Tells you a lot about a girl, you know, Lily, the company she keeps,” Snape said loudly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare talk to her like that,” snarled James. He stepped forward, looming over Snape as he drew himself to his full height. A moment of comprehension dawned on the shorter boy’s sharp features - if this got physical, this was not a fight he was going to win. 

“Like I’ve always said, _all brawn and no brains_ ,” Snape scoffed. He took a step back, forcing his hands into the pockets of the shabby black great coat he was wearing. He surveyed Lily for a moment, looking as though he couldn’t quite work her out. James glanced between the boy and Lily, trying to work out what she wanted him to do, but she looked frozen to the spot, speechless. Finally, Snape broke the silence. 

“Well, it was certainly… _illuminating_ to run into you, Lily. I’ll see you around.”

Then, without another word, Snape turned and stalked off. 

* * *

“What’s the matter?” Remus asked, as James and Lily traipsed into the sitting room, half an hour later. James shrugged off his coat, face mutinous.

“We…” Lily sighed, glancing at James as she did so. “We ran into Snape in the park.” 

“Lord,” winced Remus, “not good.” 

“ _Very_ not good,” James added darkly.

“I cannot believe we moved from a small town to the biggest city in the UK and _still_ managed to run into my terrible ex.” 

“Did you speak to him?” asked Remus. 

“Yeah, briefly.” 

“He was being a grade A cunt, as per usual,” James muttered under his breath. 

“James!” scolded Lily. 

“What? It’s true! You heard the way he was talking when he thought we lived together.” 

“Well, you basically do live together,” Remus pointed out. “It’s basically the six of us in a bizarre family set up."

“A valid point,” Lily admitted.

"You don't think Snape knew you live round here, did he?" asked Remus, concern on his face. "Like, it was just a coincidence, right?" 

"God, I hope so," Lily said, going a little white. "I deliberately don't put the location on social media, just in case. The only connection would be Sirius telling his brother where he lives, and Regulus telling Severus, but I feel like that's incredibly unlikely." 

“Speaking of, where’s Sirius?” James frowned. 

“I don’t know, actually,” replied Remus, glancing down at his watch. “He went out a couple of hours ago and said he had to do something important, but wouldn’t tell me what. Give him another twenty minutes, and if he’s not back, we’ll have lunch.” 

Ten minutes later, they heard the front door open. 

“It’s me!” came Sirius’ voice. 

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Remus quipped. 

Sirius walked into the sitting room, clearly bursting to tell them something. Remus regarded him with a hint of suspicion; whenever Sirius had the air of walking on springs, some kind of harebrained scheme was usually about to take place. 

“So,” Sirius beamed, “I have a surprise.” 

Lily, James and Remus exchanged looks.

“What kind of surprise?” James asked slowly. 

“An excellent kind of surprise. Wait here.” Sirius turned on his heel, and rushed out of the room. The three of them heard the front door click open again. There was a pause, then they heard Sirius mutter _shit_ , and close the door again. 

“Why am I suddenly filled with a great deal of fear and foreboding?” Remus asked, looking at James out the corner of his eye. 

“You and me both, pal.” 

Before Remus could continue, he heard a shout. 

“Ta-da!” 

Sirius was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, an enormous grin on his face. In his hand was a red lead, with golden stripes running across it. At the end of the lead was a big, shaggy, and very, _very_ real black dog. He had a smattering of grey hairs around his muzzle, and ears that pointed straight up, save for the very tip on the left, which seemed to be slightly bent over.

"May I introduce the newest Marauder?" beamed Sirius. 

Lily gasped, and shot across the room to shower the dog with affection. 

“Sirius, he’s so cute!” 

“Are you fucking serious?” James said, a huge grin on his face. He bounded over to join Lily, patting the dog on the head and repeating _good boy_ over and over. 

“That’d be Remus, actually,” Sirius replied, gesturing towards the blond. 

“Sirius!” Remus hissed. “I told you I would kill you if you got a puppy!” 

“This, Remus, my love, is decidedly _not_ a puppy. I listened to what you said.” 

“Sirius-“

“His name is Snuffles,” Sirius said, ignoring Remus’ descent into apoplexy. “He is an Alsatian-Collie cross. He went to the dogs’ home after his last owner died. He’s been there for _three years_ , poor thing, and no one has picked him. Did you know that black dogs are less likely to be adopted?” 

Sirius leaned forward and cupped his hands over the dog’s ears, as though protecting him from what he was about to say.

“They said that if I didn’t choose him, he was going to be _put down_ ,” Sirius whispered, his eyes wide.

James and Lily continued to fuss over the dog, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room between their friends. Remus stared at the dog, and its big, heartfelt, and oh-so-brown eyes, which reminded him a little too much of Sirius, stared back. Sirius, in turn, watched his boyfriend’s face for any hint of his final judgement on the matter.

“Rem,” Sirius said quietly, anxiety now showing in his voice, “please can I keep him? I’ve walked past him in the dogs’ home yard on my way to work every day since I started. We’re great pals already. And I can’t take him back now, I’ve officially adopted him - he’s not exactly like a jumper that doesn’t fit and you can get a refund.” 

James snorted, and hastily covered it up with a cough after Lily shot daggers at him.

“He can stay,” Remus said finally. “But so help you God if I find that dog anywhere near our bed, Sirius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute


	9. Round Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Sirius get the flu, and Marlene goes on a date with Hestia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I objectively hate this chapter, so that bodes well? But, it is one of my fave songs.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as [stonecoldhedwig](https://stonecoldhedwig.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat!

“Do you think we’ll survive this, Jem?”

“I googled whether or not we had coffee in the house this morning,” James said, from under a blanket. “I feel like I might die.” 

“What, no Evans to nurse you back to health?” Sirius teased, before erupting into a coughing fit. 

“She’s away for three days on some training thing with work,” James replied, eyeing Sirius beadily. “Otherwise, I’d be in bed with her rather that cuddled up on the sofa with you.” 

“Extraordinarily rude,” Sirius retorted. 

A plague had descended upon 11, Caraway Street. The two of them were settled on the sofa in their sitting room, having both called into work sick. They had FaceTimed James’ mother that morning, who had told them in no uncertain terms that it was just a cold, and yes, they would survive it, if they took some vitamins and got some rest. 

“What are you doing?” James asked, as he flicked through the channels on the TV, and Sirius scrolled on his phone. 

“Online shopping, why?” 

“I thought you bought a load of stuff the other day?” 

“I know, I know. Stop me buying shoes!” Sirius groaned. “I’ve only got two feet and I don’t go anywhere.” 

“You could give some of them to me, we’ve got the same size feet.” 

“Pfft,” Sirius scoffed. “Unlikely. You wouldn’t appreciate the artistry of good footwear if it smacked you in the face.”

“Extraordinarily rude, Padfoot.” 

“I just like to tell the truth, Jem,” Sirius replied. 

“What, like I will later when I tell Rem you bought more shoes?” mocked James, mirth in his eyes.

Sirius' only response to that was to throw a magazine at James, narrowly missing his head.

* * *

That evening, Remus put the keys in the lock, and hefted against the wood of the door. It gave way, and swung open, and he stumbled slightly as he stepped inside. He’d been expecting the flat to be quiet, with both Sirius and James succumbing to the virus and the need for sleep. He carefully shut the heavy wooden door behind him, in order not to wake them, and turned round. Snuffles padded out from their bedroom, tail wagging and claws _tap-tapping_ on the wooden floors. Remus rolled his eyes as he did so, certain that if he went into the room he’d find a suspicious amount of downy dog hair all over the duvet cover. 

“Hey, buddy,” Remus said, bending down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. His hind leg twitched with satisfaction. From the sitting room, Remus could hear voices.

“Prongs, all I’m saying is that moose can’t logically be prey! Look at their antlers, they’re fucking _weapons_.”

“Hate to break it to you, Pads, but that’s not even remotely how evolution works.” 

Remus chuckled, and walked into the sitting room. James and Sirius were still sprawled across the sofa, ensconced in a duvet. The detritus of a day spent in the room was scattered about - empty mugs of tea were here-and-there on the surfaces, crumpled tissues and an empty biscuit box lay on the floor before him. Remus bent down and picked it up. 

“Well, it’s nice to hear you both having a spirited discussion,” Remus said with a grin. “Are you feeling any better?” 

“Marginally,” Sirius said, “although I have a headache because Jem won’t stop coughing.”

“Bit rich coming from you! I’ve had to listen to you hacking up a lung all day!”

“I still maintain it was you who brought this pestilence upon this house.”

“Absolutely not, you were the one who had the sore throat and-“

“I hate to break this up,” Remus said, “but this room smells like unwashed bodies.”

“Can’t believe we have to just keep washing our bodies until we die,” Sirius muttered. 

“Sirius,” Remus frowned, “get in the shower.” 

“ _Fine._ ” 

Sirius sloped out of the room, grumbling under his breath that maybe blessed evolution could have stopped them from needing to shower instead of making _moose_ prey.

“No Lily tonight?” Remus asked, beginning to straighten the room. He tidied away the Lord of the Rings boxset that lay open on the coffee table, and brushed the biscuit crumbs from the arm of the sofa. 

“No, she’s away for work. Gets back late tonight, so I’ll see her tomorrow.” 

Remus nodded, reaching for cushions on the armchair to plump them. 

“How was uni?” asked James, yawning. 

“It was fine,” shrugged Remus, “nothing exciting really. I’m working on this project with a couple of the guys on my course at the moment, Amos and John, and it’s going pretty well. I thought I might invite them to the Halloween party.” 

“Sounds good!” James stretched his arms. “I’m looking forward to the party, it’ll be a laugh.” 

Lily, Dorcas and Marlene had decided to have a party, roping the boys into organising it. They’d invited a load of their cohorts from university who were now living in London - the Prewett twins, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, and so on - and the prospect of getting everyone together to blow off some steam was more and more appealing with each passing day. Remus was a little suspicious of what Sirius had planned, after he’d insisted that they wear a couple’s costume, and that he would be organising it. 

“I’ll make some food once Sirius is out the shower, yeah?” Remus asked, slumping down into the armchair, which groaned in protest. 

“Sounds good. What’re we having?”

“My mother’s chicken soup recipe, _obviously_.” 

“God bless Hope,” grinned James, snuggling a little further under the duvet, "and God bless you, Remus Lupin." 

* * *

Across London, and in much more glamorous surroundings, Marlene glanced at her watch once again. She swallowed. The bartender had just placed her third glass of white wine in front of her, giving her a sympathetic look. 

_It was stupid_ , she thought, _utterly, utterly stupid_. She and Hestia had dated for, as Sirius had put it, approximately 42 seconds at university the previous year, before things had fallen apart for - well, Marlene wasn’t quite sure what the reason had been. They’d started texting again, and that same flicker of excitement fizzed in her stomach every time Hestia’s name came up on her phone screen. Then, there’d been that night out, where they’d run into each other in a dark, sticky bar, and they’d ended up rushing back to Marlene’s in a taxi, all fumbling hands and searing hot kisses. 

Yet, here she was, sitting in a bar, over an hour after they’d agreed to meet, with neither sight nor sound of Marlene’s date. She ran her fingers over the stem of her wine glass, cursing internally. _Why was she expecting anything else?_ Hestia had been the one to ghost her last time, it would make sense for it to happen again. Marlene sighed. She was about to gesture to the bartender for her bill when there was a flurry of movement to her righthand side. 

“ _So_ sorry,” came Hestia’s breezy voice, as she dropped into the bar stool beside her. Marlene looked up, breaking into an unintentional grin. Hestia had clearly come from the office; she wore an exquisitely tailored suit jacket and tight, high-waisted trousers that left little to the imagination. She smiled back at Marlene, and ran a hand through her long, windswept hair, a cornucopia of bangles and bracelets on her wrist tinkling as they collided with each other. 

“No worries!” Marlene said, relief rushing through her. 

“I got caught up at work, and well-“ Hestia shrugged, gesturing to the barman for a glass of wine like Marlene, “you know how it is.” 

“Right,” said Marlene weakly, taking another gulp of her drink. 

“So, how’s work been? It feels like forever since I saw you. When was it, that night out?” The way Hestia asked questions felt like a barrage of bullets, and Marlene swallowed.

“Yeah, I think it must have been that night out,” she replied, leaving off the _that night you came back to mine and we had hours of amazing sex_ that she really wanted to add. “Work’s been alright, thanks, just been getting used to the fact that I’ve sold my soul to the capitalist machine.” 

Hestia laughed, throwing her hair over her shoulder and exposing her long, tanned neck. Marlene wanted to sink her teeth into it, wanted to leave bright red and purple blooms up and down the smooth brown skin. 

“I think you’re the only person I know who thinks they’ve sold their soul, Marlene,” chuckled Hestia. “Everyone else who’s working in finance seems to love it.” 

“Nah, James hates it as well. But,” Marlene shrugged, “I guess we can retire at thirty-five and then go and do something we actually enjoy. How about you? Commanding the courtrooms like the powerhouse lawyer you are, yet?” 

“No,” Hestia chuckled, “not yet. Still working on getting to that point. Hoping if I flirt with my boss enough, he might be convinced to let me out the office.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“You know how it is,” Hestia said conspiratorially, catching Marlene’s eye over the rim of her wine glass, “sometimes you’ve got to use unorthodox tactics to get what you want.” 

Marlene felt Hestia’s hand slip onto her thigh, practically burning a hole through the denim of her jeans. _She was putty under those hands_ , Marlene thought, _absolute putty._ She was giddy at just the thought of another night with Hestia, another night with those hands tracing patterns on her thighs, those lips ghosting over her body, all that potential tied up in hot breath against skin and whispered conversations. 

Hestia leant in, her lips millimetres from Marlene’s. 

“Want to get out of here, McKinnon?” 

And _that_ , that phrase was bound up in it all, in all the expectation and the potential and the burning desire. Marlene met Hestia’s eyes, all cool greys and sharp flecks of steel. 

“Yeah,” breathed Marlene, “let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows


	10. TooTime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of sauciness from Hestia and Marlene, and then the Big Halloween Party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I feel bad for Marlene, and yet I am the orchestrator of her suffering.

It was a booty call, obviously.

She’d got the text at quarter to midnight, and Marlene had honestly thought about declining - which felt like a really adult thing to do, considering the circumstances. But then Hestia had said she could stay over, borrow some clothes for work, and Marlene had felt her resolve crumble. Soon enough she was in an Uber, speeding across the city, excitement rising in her stomach. 

Hestia had met her at the front door, her hair mussed and her eyes twinkling. Her sleep shirt barely reached her mid-thigh, and _she looked delicious_ , Marlene thought, utterly delicious. They’d stepped inside the house, hands clasped together and giggles stifled as they climbed the stairs in the dark. Marlene had hardly had the chance to drop her bag on the floor of Hestia’s bedroom before Hestia’s lips were upon hers, hands roaming over her body. 

It didn’t matter that it was a booty call after that, didn’t matter that it was a Sunday night and Marlene had to be in work the next morning. They fell down onto the bed, hands scrabbling for buttons on shirts and jeans, desperate to get each other’s clothes off so they could be skin-to-skin. Hestia had flipped them over so she was straddling Marlene, had let her fingers trail over her lips and her neck, squeezing a hand round Marlene’s neck in the way she knew would send the blonde crazy. Then their lips had met, and they’d descended into that unfettered ecstasy of mouths and fingers and nails raking against skin. 

Hestia had fallen asleep almost immediately after, but Marlene was too awake. Her thoughts were swirling round her mind, thin and silvery and tenuous. Marlene looked over at the slumbering form of the girl next to her, all loose limbs and slow, gentle breaths. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

* * *

The day of Halloween was upon them, and the inhabitants of 11, Caraway Street were excitedly preparing for the party. Lily, Dorcas and Marlene had categorically refused to allow either Sirius or Remus anywhere near the punch they were making; too many nights at university simply couldn’t be recalled thanks to one or other of them, and their incredibly potent cocktails. 

That afternoon, James found himself home from work early, hours free before the party started. He took Snuffles for a stroll around the streets nearby, waving at Dumbledore and McGonagall and fervently ignoring Umbridge’s curtain twitching. He had the flat to himself when he returned, and settled on blasting the latest album from The 1975 that Sirius had bought on vinyl. 

“That dreadful woman,” Sirius snarled, walking through the front door in the early evening. Snuffles looked up from his position by the coffee table, and his tail _thump-thump-thumped_ against the floor when he saw his master. 

“Oh, what’s-her-face across the road?” James asked, casually flipping through a magazine as he lounged on the sofa.

“Umbridge,” Sirius replied, throwing himself into one of the old armchairs and swinging his legs over the side. He let his arm drop down, and began scratching Snuffles’ tummy. 

“What’s she done now?”

“She’s put some sign up in her garden advertising that nutty church she’s a part of. Fairly explicitly homophobic, let’s put it that way.” 

“Grim,” James scowled. “How was work?”  
  
“Good,” Sirius said. “We got a load of new stuff in from this guy that Madame Zabini knows - I think he’s a bit dodgy, actually, but that’s not really the point. Runs an import business called Borgin and Burke, only I can never remember whether he’s Borgin _or_ Burke.” 

“Did you see that thing Mum and Dad sent about Christmas, by the way? They want to know thoughts on new ideas for the family Christmas party,” asked James. “I know it’s stupidly early to be thinking about it, considering it’s only Halloween, but I forwarded you the email.” 

“I probably did get it, but it’s also probably somewhere in my inbox being ignored,” Sirius shrugged. 

James rolled his eyes, laughing. 

“Very unhelpful.”

“Well, you know me, I only have two ways of replying to an email: immediately, because I have no chill, or six months later because I opened it, put it on my mental to-do list, and then had several large life crises.”

“Remind me never to hire you.” 

“Impolite.”

At that moment, Remus walked in, interrupting the conversation. 

“Why aren’t we hiring Sirius?” he asked, throwing the day’s post onto the sideboard.

“Cus it takes him six months to reply to an email, regardless of whether he’s having a life crisis.” 

“Eh,” Remus shrugged, “you’re not wrong.” 

“Remus!” Sirius cried, throwing a cushion at Remus. “Look at me, I’m a consummate professional.” 

“You have soup on your tie.” 

James guffawed, and Sirius looked down to see a stain that looked remarkably like that day’s lunch. 

“Shit.”

“Anyway,” chuckled Remus, settling himself onto the sofa next to James, and checking his watch, “what time are we supposed to be ready for this evening?” 

“Lils said eight thirty,” replied James. 

“And what are you going to force me to wear?” Remus asked, fixing Sirius with an appraising look. “I’ll tell you again that I’m not wearing anything that requires me to wear tights.” 

“I’m not going to make you wear tights, for the last time,” said Sirius. “What is it about you and tights?”

“I am uncomfortable with the idea of tights, that’s all. Very restrictive.” 

“Moony, has anyone ever told you you need therapy?” James asked. 

“Sirius does, regularly,” quipped Remus, “but I keep telling him I’ll only go if he does.” 

“To which I say that we might as well just stay psychologically broken together,” Sirius winked in return, to James laughter. 

“C’mon, spill, Sirius,” Remus continued. 

“Well, I thought long and hard about this-” 

“A novel occurrence.” 

“Prongs, you are _so_ rude,” scowled Sirius, before looking back at his boyfriend and continuing. “Anyway, because you’re an intellectual, I came up with an intellectual costume for you.”

“If you’re going to make me go as a medieval knight-“

“ _For the_ _love of God, will someone let me finish_? Shut up, Remus, no,” tutted Sirius. “Your name means wolf, and thus, I have procured you a wolf costume. _My_ name is a star, and I’ve got myself the best damn star costume you’ve ever seen.”

Remus paused for a moment. 

“That’s not bad, actually, I don’t hate it.” 

“You might,” James said, his head back in his magazine, “when you see how much glitter his costume involves.”

* * *

It was a good turnout, considering it was a Wednesday night. The Prewett twins had turned up early, bringing with them a large amount of alcohol. James and them had been on the rugby team together at university, and Marlene had once dated Gideon for, as she put it, a hot second, so they were old friends. Sirius had poured them glasses of wine, handing them round. 

“I hear you’ve been seeing a certain lady from university, Marls,” Gideon had grinned as they clinked glasses. 

Marlene flushed red.

“Yeah, a little bit,” she said, barely keeping the smile from breaking out on her face. 

“Hope she’s coming tonight,” Gideon continued, winking. “It’d be a shame to let that costume go to waste.” 

Sirius didn’t know if Hestia had turned up, and now, hours into the party, he didn’t particularly care. The alcohol was coursing through him, but he didn’t have that high, that delicious _buzz_ that he usually got. He swayed in time with the music, scanning the room. He knew most of the people in there, aside from some of those the girls had invited from their respective works. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched Fabian Prewett get up close and personal with some quiet Welsh brunette Lily had invited from work. What was her name again? He shook his head, he couldn’t recall. 

The glitter from his costume had got in his eye one too many times, and he was tired. He’d lost Remus early in the night, when his friends from university had arrived and wanted to talk about the Crusades, which had made Sirius snort. Remus had rolled his eyes, and Sirius had kissed him on the cheek, leaving them to it in the kitchen to discuss the ins-and-outs of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Something like that, anyway, because if Sirius was being honest, he’d zoned out almost as soon as they started talking. 

Sirius put his half-finished cup down, and headed towards the door. He was tired, and felt the call of a shower to get rid of the glitter, a cup of tea, and bed. _Yes, he’d let Snuffles out onto the terrace for a little bit_ , he thought, let the dog stretch his legs for a little while, sniff at the cool autumn air. Sirius stepped out of the girls’ flat, fishing about in his pocket for his phone to text Remus and tell him he was going to bed. He looked up as he approached the stairs to their floor, noticing a figure with trademark-blonde hair hunched over, sitting on one of the steps in the half-light. 

“Marls?”

“I’m fine,” came the reply, and Sirius could hear the tears in her voice. 

“Hey,” Sirius said, sliding onto the stair next to her and laying a hand on her arm. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

“Hestia brought someone else.” Marlene’s words were barely above a whisper. 

“Pardon?” 

“To the party,” Marlene gestured vaguely in the direction of her flat. “She brought some other girl.” 

“What the fuck?” Sirius frowned. “Like, she brought someone else, as a pal, or she _brought_ someone else?” 

“Do you really think I’d be sitting out here crying if she’d _brought someone as a pal_?” Marlene rolled her eyes. “They’re playing tonsil tennis against my bedroom door, otherwise I’d have gone there.” 

“ _Shit_. Look, Marls-” 

“I know, _I know_ , what you’re going to say,” Marlene continued, “you’re going to say that I’m better than her and that I deserve better, and that I’ll _find my person to complete me one day_ , but fuck!” she threw her hands up bitterly. “I just wanted one chance for it to work out with a girl where I didn’t feel like just another option.” 

“Actually,” Sirius said gently, a smile playing at his lips, “I was going to say that yeah, you’re great, and you can do so much better than someone who _brings another date to your Halloween party_ , Marls. But, I was also going to say that I don’t buy the whole _finding your person_ schtick. You don’t need someone to complete you. You’re perfect as you are.”

“You think?”

“Of course I do, you total tit,” chuckled Sirius. 

“When did you get so sensitive, you dick?” Marlene muttered. 

“Remarkably, he’s always been this sensitive,” came a voice from behind them, causing both Marlene and Sirius to turn. Remus was standing a few steps above them, smiling warmly. 

“Rem!” Sirius cried, his face breaking into that stupidly perfect grin that always crossed his face when he looked at his boyfriend. 

“He’s right, you know,” Remus continued, looking at Marlene’s tear-stained face and nodding towards Sirius, “you don’t need anyone to be _complete_ , Marls.” 

“Did Remus Lupin just say I was right?” Sirius asked, eyes wide.

“Literally not your moment, Pads,” Remus chuckled. He settled himself on the step above them, reaching out a hand and squeezing Marlene’s shoulder. 

“You guys found each other,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, we did,” Remus admitted, screwing up his face as he spoke, “but I also don’t think Sirius and I _complete each other_.” 

“Fucking rude.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” Remus laughed, running his thumb along Sirius’ jaw. “What I mean is, I think we were complete people before we got together, and we’d be complete people if we ever - _God forbid_ \- break up.” 

“Actually God forbid.” Marlene gave a watery chuckle. “I don’t think I could deal with a heartbroken Sirius Black languishing in our flat.” 

“Who says it would be me who’d have their heart broken?” asked Sirius incredulously. 

“Oh, babe,” Marlene laughed heartily, “of course it’d be you.” 

“She’s right, you know,” muttered Remus, winking at Sirius, who sighed good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, she is.” Sirius smiled softly back. “You’d break my heart, and I’d let you do it a hundred times over, Remus Lupin.” 

“Oi, I’m the one having the emotional crisis, can we focus?” Marlene interrupted. 

“Who’s having an emotional crisis?”

James and Lily emerged from the girls’ flat, arms wrapped round each other. They’d ended up going as some kind of Roman senator situation - no one had been really clear as to who they were supposed to be, and were glad that their resident Classics scholar, Mary, wasn’t there to take them to task. James’ toga had slipped undone at his shoulder, so that he was now sporting a sort of bedsheet-based kilt, and Lily’s leaf crown was askew. 

“I am,” Marlene sighed. “Hestia is going at it with some girl against my bedroom door.” 

“Yeah, we saw,” James said awkwardly, as they joined their friends to sit on the stairs. Lily grimaced, reaching a hand out and squeezing Marlene’s arm. 

“Gwenog Jones,” she said, “she was the year above us at uni. You probably don’t want to know, I get it, but-” 

“She’s called _Gwenog?_ What kind of a name is _Gwenog_?” exclaimed Marlene. 

“It’s Welsh, and-“ 

“Remus,” Sirius said darkly. 

“Right,” replied Remus quickly, “not my moment.” 

They were interrupted by a loud bang as the door to 11B swung open. 

“Oh _lord_ , there you all are,” Dorcas said, nearly falling out of the flat. She had a harangued look about her, as though she’d just been fighting off some deep sea creature, like a giant squid. 

“You alright, Dorcas?” James asked, grinning. 

“Why did no one tell me Benjy Fenwick was going to be here?” she hissed. “I’ve spent the past hour trying to get away from him, ‘cus all he wants to do is ask me about Mary, and I just don’t think it’s healthy for him to get drunk at a Halloween party and talk about his ex-girlfriend.” 

“Ew, absolutely not,” grimaced Sirius.

“Oh God,” Lily shut her eyes for a second, “I probably invited him on Facebook without even thinking about it. Sorry, Dorko.” 

“It’s fine,” Dorcas huffed, “because I’m glad I found you. Marls…” she trailed off, looking at her friend.

“ _I know_ ,” Marlene said, “don’t worry. I’d be in my room having a meltdown if it weren’t for the fact Hestia is up against my door with that girl.” 

“Want me to go and kick them out?” James asked, flexing his muscles. Marlene laughed, and ruffled his hair. 

“Bless you, James Potter, but no. They’ll leave soon. I’m also concerned that if you make any sudden movements, that toga’s going to be on the floor.” 

“Costumes have gone down well this year, though, gang,” Dorcas said. “And, of course, it wouldn’t be Halloween without Marlene wearing a sexy cat costume, would it?” 

Everyone laughed, as Marlene rolled her eyes. She’d worn the same Halloween costume - tight black leggings, heeled boots, cat ears and tail - every year they’d known her. 

“Mine is obviously the best,” Sirius declared. 

“Who decided that?” asked an incredulous James. 

“I did. Because I,” he said dramatically, clutching his hands to his chest as a cloud of gold glitter descended on those nearest to him, “am a star.” 

“You know we all said it was a super smart costume idea?” Lily giggled, her eyes twinkling.

“Yeah,” said Sirius slowly. 

“‘Fraid we already pipped you to the post on that one, pal,” Marlene continued, sniggering. “When we were trying to get you guys together at uni, our group chat was called _Operation Wolfstar_. Mary came up with the name.” 

“You never said! You let me go round thinking I’d come up with the best costume idea ever! Curse you all,” Sirius cried, only half joking. 

“I, for one, thought it was very clever,” Remus said in a stage whisper.

“You would,” replied James, earning himself a clip round the ear from Remus. 

They fell silent for a moment, until the door to the flat swung open again. The Prewett twins stepped out, laughing at some joke, and spotted them all sitting on the stairs. 

“There you are! We’re off, gotta work tomorrow,” Gideon said, slurring a little. “Thanks for a great time though, guys, and we’ll see you Saturday for Sirius’ party!”

“Bye, guys!” Lily called, and the group watched the twins descend to the front door. 

“How is it we have a party, and we all end up hanging out on the stairs together?” Marlene asked, grimacing a little. “This cannot happen at your birthday party, Sirius. God, we need more friends.” 

“Fuck off,” Sirius said good-naturedly, wrapping an arm round her shoulders and squeezing her into a hug, “you love us really.” 

“Yeah,” said Marlene, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, “I really do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975


	11. Guiding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlene and Remus have coffee to discuss Hestia, and then there's something shady about Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that I think of as Remus and Sirius' song is Guiding Light, by Foy Vance! Also Sirius gets flowers from the girls because I think it's tremendously sad that men don't get bought flowers, and Sirius is the kind of person who'd love them.

Three knocks sounded in quick succession against the front door. Marlene sighed, and heaved herself up from the sofa, where she’d been watching yet another episode of Judge Judy and wallowing in self-pity over the events of the previous night’s Halloween party. She trudged across the flat and into the hall, her slippers making a _shuffle-shuffle-shuffle_ noise against the hardwood floor, and opened the front door.

“Remus!” she said in surprise, looking at the blond boy standing sheepishly on her doormat, Snuffles at his feet and lead in hand. 

“I remembered you said you had the day off work,” Remus said awkwardly. “I wondered if you wanted to come walk Snuffles with me and get a coffee.” 

Marlene beamed. 

“Remus Lupin, you angel,” she said. “Let me grab my jacket.”

They descended to the street, and the two of them walked in silence for a while, Snuffles trotting slowly by their side. It had rained overnight, and the air was cool and damp. The plane trees along Caraway Street were bare of their leaves now, standing like dark, fragile skeletons against the brooding grey sky. Marlene gazed up at it, sighing before she spoke. 

“You and Sirius, you’re good, right?” 

Remus looked at her, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, we’re good. Why’d you ask?” 

Marlene shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just wondered. It’s weird because I can talk to Sirius about most things, but he never talks to me about you.” 

“Really?” Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Oh yeah, he’s cagey as fuck about you. I think the last time we actually talked about you guys’ relationship properly was the end of the summer. Even then, it was hardly effusive." 

“Huh,” Remus said, unsure what to say to that. 

“I just wondered, that's all. Obviously you're a saint for putting up with him,” Marlene teased. 

“Honestly? I think he’s the one who puts up with more, if I’m being realistic.”

“Really?” frowned Marlene. 

“Sirius…” Remus trailed off, looking for the right words to express what he wanted to say. “I think people think he’s a bit of a goofball, and don’t get me wrong, he is, but he’s also witty and really emotionally aware of himself. I guess it comes from being insanely intelligent. Like, sometimes he comes home from work and is talking about something, and I just sit there and think _Jesus Christ, this all comes so naturally to you_.” 

“Remus Lupin, are you jealous of your own boyfriend?” 

Remus let out a bark of a laugh, and grinned at Marlene wolfishly. 

“Honestly? Yes. Look at him! He’s so hot and smart and hilarious!” 

“Good thing he’s not here, or I’d think you were sucking up to him,” Marlene said with a smile. 

They meandered their way in comfortable silence through the streets, letting Snuffles sniff here and there at seemingly nothing. When they arrived, Hagrid’s was a welcome respite from the dreary weather. The smell of roasted coffee beans and wood smoke filled their nostrils as they walked into the cosy cafe, the tables almost entirely taken up. They ordered coffees, and tucked themselves in at a small table between the window and the roaring fire. Snuffles lay on the hearth rug next to a snoring Fang, letting out a satisfied _harrumph_ as he sprawled out. 

They chatted a little more, as Hagrid placed steaming cups of coffee before them and handed Snuffles a dog treat. Finally, Remus put his spoon down on his saucer, and broached the topic they’d been dancing round. 

“How’re you feeling about last night?”

Marlene wrinkled up her face.

“Embarrassed.” 

“What?” Remus frowned. “Why are you embarrassed?” 

Marlene sighed, looking out of the window of Hagrid’s onto the street and fiddling with the handle on her coffee cup. 

“I just… feel like a bit of an idiot, that’s all.” She looked back at Remus briefly, meeting his eye and grimacing. 

“Nah, don’t feel like an idiot,” Remus shook his head. “Why should you feel embarrassed about Hestia’s behaviour?”

“Honestly?” Marlene looked away, trying not to cringe as she spoke. “I feel like I just fuck up all my relationships. Like, here’s Marlene, _the dysfunctional member of the group_.” 

Remus snorted. 

“Remember that time I brought someone to a party as a friend and then Sirius ended up sleeping with him to make me jealous? Or when Lily and James went on their first date and we all spied on them, and ended up getting in a fight with her creepy ex? Or when Dorcas had to go on a date with Kingsley Shacklebolt in order to get us tickets to go to that Christmas Ball at uni? C’mon, Marls, none of us do _normal_ very well, let alone functional!” 

Remus leant his head forward, searching for her eyes. Marlene finally looked at him, and smiled. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she admitted, “I’ve not exactly got the best examples for normal relationships.” 

“Then again,” Remus frowned, “I guess Mary and Reg count as normal, right?”

“One friend out of eight of us? Bearing in mind that there are two couples _within our friendship group?_ ” Marlene sat back in her chair and laughed - the first real, genuine laugh Remus had seen out of her that day. It was infectious. “Remus, that’s _pathetic_.” 

“You’re right,” he sniggered, “that _is_ pathetic.” 

The two of them stopped laughing, before catching one another’s eye and descending into giggles again. 

“You’re a good pal, Remus,” Marlene smiled once they had composed themselves, reaching out and squeezing his wrist affectionately, “and thank you for this, I needed it. Honestly, I don’t know why we don’t hang out like this more often, it’s been lovely.” 

“Yes, it is strange, isn’t it? Because I’m essentially the male equivalent of Dorcas and you’re the female version of my boyfriend. If we weren’t both quite so frightfully gay, we’d probably end up dating.” 

“I cannot work out if that’s a compliment or an insult.” 

“Little bit of both?” Remus smirked, bringing his cup to his lips. 

* * *

Saturday dawned crisp and bright. Sirius had hated birthdays as a child, but they were growing on him, now he had his unconventional, patchwork family to celebrate with, away from the stifling oppression of 12, Grimmauld Place. That morning, Remus had woken him up with breakfast in bed - and then promptly threw a piece of toast at his head when Sirius asked with raised eyebrows _what was for dessert_.

Then, there had been presents from the rest of the gang, as they piled into the sitting room and wrapped their hands around steaming cups of coffee. There was whiskey from Dorcas, an expensive sketchbook from Marlene, aftershave from Lily, and a big bouquet of flowers from all three - roses and ranunculus, woven with lamb’s ear and baby’s breath. Then, a box of champagne had arrived from Monty and Phe, along with a care package full of Sirius’ favourite goodies - candied orange peel, Phe’s homemade fudge, a tin of his favourite tea, and so on. 

He’d had to take a moment when James had presented him with a photograph of the two of them in a beautiful silver frame, from a trip they’d all taken to Spain together over the summer. His throat had burned and his eyes stung as he looked down at it. The two of them were standing on the beach, a sunset in the background in reds and pinks and oranges, their shadows cast long before them. He and James had their arms wrapped around each other, genuine beaming grins on their faces as they laughed at something off camera, every pixel candid and honest. Sirius was reminded with the same joyous jolt that these people who sat around him, squabbling over who sat where and who had the last croissant, were people who loved him. It was a feeling that never failed to catch him by surprise, the realisation over-and-over again that he had found _home_ in a way he never expected.

And then there had been Remus’ gift. The wrapping was, as ever, impeccable - pale gold paper, patterned with line drawings, and a midnight blue ribbon. Popping open the box, inside he saw a bracelet, with a woven leather strap and a small silver plate; engraved upon it in simple script were four simple words: _the road is wide_ , a line from what they called “their” song. Sirius had felt his heart soar, and had put the box down with shaking hands, before grabbing Remus’ chin and pulling him forward into a heart-stopping kiss. He proffered his middle finger, grinning into the kiss, as the rest of the group jeered. 

The rest of the morning had been a flurry of excitement, walking Snuffles and eating brunch cooked by Lily and James. Peter had arrived not long after midday, having caught the train from Bristol, and they settled into an afternoon of their usual Fifa-and-beer, in preparation for Sirius’ party that night. Peter had seemed a little off, but Sirius couldn’t put his finger on why - he shook it off, assuming it was tiredness from Peter’s long journey. 

About halfway though the afternoon, Sirius stood in the kitchen, refilling a bowl of crisps and popping the tops off cold bottles of beer. He hummed under his breath as he did so, some vague rendition of the Fifa theme tune. 

“Hey, you want a hand with those?”

Sirius turned round, to see Peter standing in the doorway, wringing his hands. He looked strangely nervous, his brow creased. 

“Peter!” Sirius smiled, beckoning him over. “A hand would be great, thanks.” 

“James and Remus are in a penalty shoot-out,” Peter offered by way of explanation as a roar came from the room next-door. 

“Christ,” Sirius laughed, slicing limes, “Remus is more competitive about penalties than anything else.”

“Yeah,” Peter laughed awkwardly, a high-pitched sound that sounded choked in his throat.

“You alright, Wormtail?” Sirius asked, stealing a glance at him out the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I just…” Peter let out a deep breath, clearing steeling himself for something. 

“… Are you sure?” Sirius asked slowly, tearing his eyes away from where he was pushing the limes in to the top of beer bottles. 

“ _Do-you-think-I-have-a-shot-with-Marlene_?” Peter asked in all one breath.

Sirius did a double take. 

“What?” 

“Marlene,” Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y’know, I’ve always sort of had a thing for her.” 

“Peter,” Sirius frowned, “Marls is gay. Like, very gay. Arguably gayer than Remus, actually, which is quite an achievement.” 

“She said she’s 95% gay, though. Maybe I could be the 5%.” 

Sirius looked at his friend. Peter had never grown beyond 5’5, never really lost the puppy fat that still clung to his stomach and cheeks. His prominent front teeth and watery little eyes gave him an unfortunate rat-like appearance,not helped by his hunched, slouching stature. Sirius pushed the thought of tall, blonde, and intensely beautiful Marlene from his mind. 

“Look,” Sirius said, gentler and kinder than he was used to being, “Marls was seeing this girl, Hestia. It hasn’t ended so well. Definitely not in a place to be dating anyone else. You remember her from uni, right?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Peter looked crestfallen.

“However,” Sirius continued, “I know that Evans invited Amelia Bones tonight, and I also know for certain that she’s still single.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Sirius handed Peter a bowl of tortilla chips and two bottles of beer, smiling kindly. "But enough of the girl chat right now, old pal. C’mon, Wormy, there’s a Fifa tournament to be won!” 

Over the next couple of games, Sirius watched Peter. He looked like he’d lost weight, Sirius supposed, and he was dressed somewhat more fashionably than usual, eschewing the old, worn jeans in favour of a pair of smart chinos. _Still_ , Sirius thought, _nothing about Peter screamed_ _Marlene’s type._ The girls had left, heading back down to their flat to allow the boys the opportunity to catch up. Sirius had noted the soft way that Peter tried to surreptitiously follow Marlene with his eyes as she left - _poor bastard_ , Sirius thought, _he never was subtle_. Fortunately, James and Marlene were teasing one another about something, making an absolute racket, and no one seemed to notice. 

As afternoon gave way to evening, Peter glanced at his phone. Some dark shadow crossed his face as he did so, and Sirius frowned - it was unlike Peter to be attached to his phone, and even more unlike him to have something on there that did anything to impact his mood. Sirius watched as he bit his lip, reading whatever was on the screen, before sliding it into his pocket and standing.

“Bathroom,” Peter offered in response to the questioning look Sirius had given him. He strolled out of the sitting room - a little too nonchalantly, in Sirius’ opinion. 

“Oi, lads,” Sirius said, leaning forward and glancing over his shoulder to check that Peter had gone into the bathroom. “We need to wingman Wormy hard tonight with Amelia Bones.”

“Really?” James screwed up his face in confusion. “Which one is she, again?” 

“Redhead. Lily's friend.” 

“Edgar’s twin sister,” said Remus cooly, watching recognition appear on James’ face. “You know, my ex-boyfriend.” 

“Yes, well, he’s not coming, so best not to dwell on that bit,” Sirius said breezily. “We need to wingman him because he told me earlier today that he’s always had a bit of a thing for Marlene, and he thought she might be up for it.” 

“Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no,” James said, shaking his head, eyes wide.

“D’you think he’s been a bit weird since he got here?” Remus asked, frowning. “Like, he’s really shady about who he’s been hanging out with in Bristol, but his Instagram is full of pictures of what seems to be a pretty active social life.” 

“Honestly, I thought he might have got a girlfriend,” Sirius admitted, “until he asked me about Marlene.” 

“Maybe he’s outgrown us?” suggested James, as he took a swig of beer.

“No,” Remus shook his head. “Peter, for all his idiosyncrasies, is loyal, isn’t he?”

The boys heard the bathroom door unlock, and hastily returned to their game. 

“We’ll see, I guess,” Sirius muttered, and focussed on the television screen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance


	12. Back to You (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion rocks up at the gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, I'm away on holiday! Anyway, here's the most depressing chapter ever. Part 1 of a vignette.

“Mr Black-“

“For the last time, Gilderoy,” Sirius sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “just call me Sirius. There’s no need for the formality, ok?” 

“Of course,” Lockhart simpered, “it’s just… well, your father is here.” 

Sirius’ head shot up. He was sitting at his desk, the cold rain pelting against the window of his office. The weather was truly miserable, sending him into a funk that didn’t match the general frivolity and good cheer of the season, now that November had given way to December, and Christmas sat on the horizon. Life, it seemed, had been running away with him - work was piling up, and taking over. Sirius had been in the middle of updating an inventory for an important upcoming show, something he and Madame Zabini had poured over for weeks, tweaking the curation here and there to make it perfect. If he had heard what Lockhart just said correctly, however, that could wait. 

“Excuse me?” His heart thrummed loudly in his ears. 

“The Earl of Grimmauld,” Lockhart continued. “He’s downstairs.” 

“Christ on a bike,” Sirius muttered, standing up. 

He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair - meeting Orion in only his shirtsleeves felt like walking into battle without his armour. Patting his pockets - _keys, wallet, phone_ \- he pushed past Lockhart and into the corridor. Whatever it was that had brought Orion to the gallery, Sirius thought, couldn’t be good. 

He thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into the gallery with Lockhart on his heels. Sirius strode towards the reception desk, eyes darting about the room, until-

It was with an almost mild look that Orion Black appraised his son. Sirius stared back, momentarily frozen by the sight of his father standing in front of him, looking as he’d always done - perfectly tailored suit, shiny black Oxford brogues, pocket square. Orion was a tall man, maybe an inch or so taller than his son, but no more. His face was a mirror for Sirius’; where Regulus had inherited their mother’s tight, pinched face, Sirius and Orion shared the strong jaw and high cheekbones that marked them as Blacks. Orion’s hair was pushed back from his high forehead, secured by pomade - where it had once been dark, it was now salt-and-pepper. It was clear that in his youth he would have looked just like Sirius. 

That was, however, where the resemblance ended. The light that danced in Orion’s eyes wasn’t the mischievous glint that inhabited Sirius’; it was hard, brutal. He didn’t have the light pink blush that remained on Sirius’ cheeks; the once-creamy complexion on Orion’s face was now mottled with the rosy flush of alcoholism. Crow’s feet adorned each side of his eyes, and the skin around his jawline had begun to sag, giving him a bloated, almost amphibian appearance. When he stretched his mouth into some gesture intended to be a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes. They retained their usual hardness, the calculating, cold stare, as the predator bared his teeth at his prey. 

“Sirius,” Orion demurred, glancing up-and-down at Sirius’ appearance. “How lovely to see you.” 

“I wish I could say likewise,” Sirius spat back, and cursed himself. It had come out harsher than intended; he’d shown his hand too early, let Orion sink his teeth into his flesh at the first bite. Sirius noted how Lockhart winced a little when he spoke. 

“I was in the area,” Orion said, baring his teeth again in that facsimile of a smile. “I thought I’d pop by and see the gallery.” 

Sirius raised his eyebrows - _he didn’t believe that for a minute_. 

“Lord Grimmauld, perhaps I could offer you a tea or coffee?” Lockhart simpered, performing some kind of awkward, bobbing movement akin to a stilted curtsey. 

Sirius butted in before Orion could speak, not taking his eyes off his father. 

“He’s fine, Gilderoy.” 

“Yes,” Orion said softly, training his eyes on Sirius’ and matching his stare, “I’m fine. Perhaps, Sirius, you might show me some of these, er, _fascinating_ pieces?”

Sirius knew that tone of voice. He knew that Orion had no interest in the art, or in being shown around the gallery, and was profanely disinterested in getting to know Lockhart. No, there was _something afoot_ in all this, Sirius knew it. 

At that moment, the door at the back of the room swung open. Madame Zabini stepped into the main gallery, looking down at some sheaf of papers in her hand. She was dressed, as ever, immaculately - tight green dress, stockings with a thin black line up the back, patent black high heels. Around her neck was that same opal necklace she had worn on the first day Sirius had met her - the day she’d asked him about his family, the day she’d said Sirius working for her was _mutually beneficial_. He swallowed nervously. 

Madame Zabini stopped, looking from Sirius to Orion and then back again. Sirius grimaced, unsure how to explain the situation. Before he could attempt to, however, Madame Zabini spoke. 

“From the family resemblance,” she said carefully, “you must be the Earl of Grimmauld.” 

“Orion Black.” Sirius watched as his father extended a hand, ever the charmer, ever the consummate gentleman. Madame Zabini took it, shaking it briefly. 

“But of course!” she smiled. “Yours is one of the finest private collections in the country. Ariadne Zabini - it is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Grimmauld.” 

“You flatter me, madam,” Orion purred, and Sirius felt like his skin was crawling. His father was always like this - every interaction with a woman felt like the air was alive with some nefarious chemistry, bubbling and swelling below the surface of their skin, waiting for a release. 

“Gilderoy, have you offered the Earl of Grimmauld some refreshments?” Madame Zabini turned to glance at Lockhart, who nodded frantically. 

“You’re too kind,” Orion said smoothly, bowing his head slightly, “but I’m afraid I must divest you of my son.” 

“Of course,” Madame Zabini said graciously, “he is all yours. Sirius, before you go, have you finished the lists for the auction next week?” 

“They’re on your desk,” Sirius said. Madame Zabini held his gaze for only a moment too long, but Sirius could have sworn he’d seen something flitter across her dark eyes - concern, perhaps, or _God forbid_ , pity. 

“Very well, then,” she said, “don’t worry about coming back later, Sirius. Enjoy your weekend. _Au revoir_ , Lord Grimmauld.”

“Cheers, you too,” Sirius muttered, looking over to Lockhart for a second, who seemed enraptured by Orion. His eyes were wide, peaches-and-cream face slightly slack as he stared at the Earl of Grimmauld, taking in his every movement. 

“Thank you,” Orion smiled again, and gestured towards the door. “Sirius, shall we?”

Sirius knew he had no choice.

“What do you want?” Sirius asked gruffly, once they were outside the gallery. He pulled his jacket closed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers against the December chill. The day was damp and a low mist hung in the air. _Pathetic fallacy_ , Sirius thought bitterly. 

“When I said I wanted a word with you,” Orion said, his lip curling, “I didn’t literally mean on the doorstep of your workplace.” 

“There’s a coffee shop round the corner, we could-“ 

“No, I have the car, we’ll go to the club.” Orion gestured towards a shiny black town car that waited by the road; Sirius could see the driver sitting patiently behind the wheel. He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not going to the club, it’s-“

“Get in the car, Sirius,” hissed Orion, breaking his cool exterior for the first time since Sirius and he had laid eyes on one another. “For God’s sake, just do as you’re told.” 

“Fine.” 

The journey was, to put it mildly, tense. The sleek car slipped through the streets of Fitzrovia and onto Mayfair, its passengers sitting in silence. Sirius glanced over at his father, who seemed consumed by his thoughts, unaware he was being watched. Orion’s hand rested loosely on his knee, and Sirius shivered as he looked at it: the skin was mottled purple and blue, looking desperately unhealthy, almost as if it were dying. Adorning his little finger was a great gold signet ring, and Sirius could see the intricate engraving of the Black family crest. He tore his eyes away, bile rising in his throat. 

Finally, they pulled up on a quiet Georgian terrace that Sirius knew only too well. Exiting the car, he took a moment to look up at the sandstone building, noting the curve of the terrace and the perfectly proportioned windows. The building looked like every other quiet square in the wealthy heart of London; unremarkable to the untrained eye. A sleek brass plaque outside was the only thing that betrayed the purpose of the building: neat lettering spelled out three words, _The Slytherin Club._

Sirius followed his father up the steps, the black front door opening before them as though enchanted. The lobby was just as Sirius remembered - mahogany panelling on the walls, dark furniture, money oozing from every inch of the space. The ceiling was the full height of the building, topped with a glittering glass dome, and Sirius could see the smattering of rain against it. His eyes were then drawn to the tapestries on the walls. Great, green tapestries, embroidered with silver and gold thread, depicting the fabled history of the club, and the names of its members. Sirius remembered baulking when Orion had once let slip how much it cost to have one’s name embroidered upon the tapestry, feeling sick at the decadence and excess. He also drew to mind how Regulus’ eyes had lit up in contrast. 

The emerald carpet was thick and springy beneath Sirius’ feet. He hung back awkwardly as Orion crossed the lobby and leant over the walnut reception desk. His father had a murmured conversation with the uniformed man behind the desk, and Sirius saw the flash of red between their hands as they shook them. He recognised a fifty pound note, and rolled his eyes. 

“Come, Sirius,” Orion snapped his fingers, barely looking at his son as he headed toward the staircase. Sirius sighed mutinously, and followed. 

Sirius knew this place. He’s never been a member - he left home before he was of an age when he could join, of course - but he remembered special occasions at the club as a child. He and Regulus, trussed up in matching suits, Orion in a dinner jacket, Walburga hanging off his arm. The feel of the smooth mahogany balustrade beneath his hand brought back memories so visceral, he thought he was hallucinating - the noise of a party, the smell of his mother’s floral perfume, the feel of her hand gripping into his shoulder. He remembered the panelled walls of the library, the smell of the rich leather armchairs and the soft velvet loveseats. He remembered kissing a girl - _was she a Slughorn? A Carrow?_ \- behind the heavy mint velvet drapes in the morning room. They’d been 15, and bored, and barely said a word to one another, both looking for some escape in the crashing of lips and tongues and teeth. He remembered his father’s hand around his neck in one of the halls upstairs, the smell of cognac on his breath and the feeling of spit hitting his face as his father hissed threats at him. 

“Sirius?” Orion asked, and Sirius realised he had stopped halfway up the great, curving staircase. He swallowed, and continued on.

The reading room hadn’t changed much from Sirius’ last visit. One side of the room faced onto the street, the wall ever so slightly curved to match the arc of the building, with windows framed with heavy drapes. At the far end, a blaze crackled in the grate of an intricate fireplace, with cadmium coloured tiles and marble making up the surround. Leather-topped tables with high-backed leather chairs dotted the room, and lamps with fringed shades cast shadows about the place, hardly adding to the weak winter light that came through the windows. 

The room was empty, and Sirius knew that meant Orion was in control. He hated it. He hated being on their turf, always on the back foot. He cursed himself for not pushing harder to stay near the gallery, to go to some coffee shop or bar, or to take Orion up to his office. Even if it was not his territory, Sirius wished he was somewhere where they were on an even keel, both duelling for sovereignty. 

Orion strode across the room. He took a seat in a chair, with his back to the fireplace, and indicated for Sirius to join him. As he did, a uniformed footman appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Good morning, Lord Grimmauld,” he said. “Can I get you some refreshments?”

“Coffee, for me, and a brandy. Sirius?” Orion raised an eyebrow, and Sirius knew it was a challenge. 

“Er, just a black coffee, please,” he said, giving the footman an awkward grimace. Orion’s lip curled as the young man gave them a curt bow, and disappeared. 

“So,” Orion said, opening his hands in a gesture of faux-welcome. “How are you, Sirius?” 

“You didn’t bring me here for a catch-up, Dad.”

Orion breathed slowly out of his mouth, fixing his eyes on something over Sirius’ shoulder. The flickering of the fire cast one side of Orion’s face into shadow, like the cracking of a death mask down the middle. He looked tired, perhaps even ill, and much older than when Sirius had last seen him the year previous. His skin had taken on a waxy, pallid tone, giving him some uncanny quality that made Sirius’ stomach churn.

“Your cousin is getting married,” Orion said finally. His eyes flickered to Sirius’. 

“Which one? I’ve got hundreds of them.” 

Orion pursed his lips, letting out a long breath through his nose. He fixed Sirius with a hard stare. 

“Narcissa,” he said, as the footman reappeared with their drinks. “Lucius Malfoy proposed last week.” 

“Joy of joys, now I get to be related to those nutcases as well,” Sirius muttered, sitting back in his chair and staring off into the distance. He glanced up at the footman as he placed a cup of steaming black coffee in front of him. “Thanks.” 

“ _I thought_ ,” Orion forged on, ignoring the young man, “that it might be a good time to talk.” 

“Christ alive,” hissed Sirius, meeting his father’s eye. “What the hell is there for us to talk about? It’s been nearly _seven years_ since I left! What could you and I possibly have to talk about?” 

“We’ve always wanted you to come home, Sirius. You are our son.” 

“There are always conditions, though, aren’t there?” sneered Sirius. 

Sirius knew he was showing his hand, knew that he should try to keep a calm exterior. But, his blood ran hot and heady, rage coursing through him. He’d always prided himself on being different to them, on wearing his heart on his sleeve and speaking his mind, eschewing the riddles that his family crafted like serpents in the garden. 

Orion shifted in his seat slightly. 

“Regulus tells us there is a… boy.” 

“Fucking snake,” Sirius spat. “Yes, there’s a _guy_.”

“And you’re… involved?” Orion said the final word through gritted teeth, a look of distaste on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius breathed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “We’re living together, so yes, we’re _involved_.”

“Where did you meet him?” 

“Why does that matter?” 

Orion pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that made Sirius’ blood run cold - because _he’d done that this morning, hadn’t he?_ Then, Orion reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, and drew out a slim chequebook and fountain pen. He unscrewed the pen, and poised it over a blank cheque, looking expectantly at his son. 

“What’ll it take, Sirius? You name your price,” he said softly. 

“ _You can’t fucking buy me_ ,” Sirius snarled back, eyes flashing. He stood, his hands shaking with rage. As he did so, the table jogged and coffee spilt from his cup onto the saucer and the table, pooling over the moss green leather like a dark stain of blood. 

“Sirius, sit down,” Orion said, his voice betraying only the tiniest of cracks in his cool exterior. 

“Or what?” 

Sirius knew he shouldn’t have challenged his father, but he didn’t care. Orion said nothing for a minute, and Sirius - _foolishly, foolishly_ \- thought he might have won. He walked away from the table, striding towards the door. Every step took him closer to escape, away from the claustrophobia of his father’s company. He wanted air, fresh air, to feel the rain on his skin, to feel some kind of life that this place and his father sucked from him like a parasite, feasting on his flesh. He was so close, and then-

He felt it. Fingers around his bicep. He knew what was going to happen, knew this dance that they had played a hundred times and in a hundred ways. He anticipated the pain before it came, letting his limbs go soft and loose. He could have fought back - by now, he was big enough and strong enough - but the child in him took control, that little boy who knew this routine only too well. 

Orion slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressing into his jugular. The air rushed from Sirius’ lungs, the pain of his skull cracking against the wooden wall barely registering as Orion planted a perfectly-aimed punch into the soft flesh of Sirius’ stomach. Winded, Sirius fought for air, his ribcage feeling like it was imploding, or exploding, or _something_ , stopping him from breathing and shooting panic through his veins. 

“You profit off of this family, whether you like it or not,” Orion breathed into Sirius’ ear, the fetid smell of stale coffee mingling with alcohol. “Everywhere you go, you’re my son. One day, you’ll have this title. You can run from us for as long as you want, Sirius, but you’re Black to your bones - my blood is your blood, and you can _never_ escape that.” 

“Get off me,” Sirius wheezed, scrabbling at Orion’s arm. He could feel his face burning as the pressure on his throat became too much; the white spots in his vision began to get larger, so familiar from childhood experiences just like this. 

“Just something to think about,” Orion said cooly. He released his son, and Sirius dropped to the floor, heaving and wretching. His eyes were streaming, and he was on all fours, gratefully sucking in breath after breath in an attempt to stop his head from spinning. Just as he was regaining some sense of control, his father moved like lightning - he reached out his foot and kicked Sirius’ hands from under him, sending him face-first onto the floor. 

“Fuck you, Dad,” Sirius spat, nose to the carpet. 

“Sirius, you’ve already fucked yourself.” His father’s voice was back to its light, faux-casual norm.“You think on what I’ve said. Maybe when you’ve had a chance to think, you can call me.” 

Sirius watched Orion’s shiny black Oxford brogues cross the carpet. Then, with a final snort of disgust, his father left the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez


	13. Back to You (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has to deal with the fallout of Orion's visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, it's more angst. 
> 
> I am exhausted, it'll be fluff for AGES after this, guys.

In Sirius’ defence, it had been a bad day. 

He’d gone straight home after leaving The Slytherin Club, calling an Uber in a daze and barely registering anything the driver had said. He’d spent the afternoon lying on the bed, one hand running through Snuffles’ fur, and his face pressed into the crook of his elbow, willing his heart to slow down so that he could _think_. He just needed a chance to settle his mind. 

The afternoon drew on, and Sirius knew he should get up. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t hide, not tonight. He was due to attend a presentation for some of Remus’ research; he was going to have to mingle with professors, and other students, and listen to a talk about Eleanor of Aquitaine even though he didn’t want to, because it was Remus, and Remus mattered. He pushed himself off the bed, waking Snuffles in the process. The dog looked at him, sleepily raising an eyebrow before settling back down again, his head on Remus’ pillow. _Remus is going to kill me for all the dog hair_ , Sirius thought. 

He stood in front of the mirror in their room. He looked, he knew, like shit. His skin was pale and clammy, his hair wild. Sighing, Sirius shucked off the shirt he’d been wearing and surveyed the damage. The bruises had already started, one stripe of mottled purple across his jugular, and another on his stomach. They were like brands against his skin. The one on his neck was low enough to be hidden by the collar of his shirt, and Sirius shook his head; _Orion knew how to leave marks that could be hidden_ , he thought bitterly. 

The car ride over to the university was slow - he should really have left earlier, avoided the rush hour traffic. _Best laid plans of mice and men_ , he thought, as he sat at a traffic light and glanced out of the window. Through the damp evening, he could see the lights on in the houses at the side of the road. One in particular caught his eye - a family was gathered round a dining table, laughing over some joke Sirius would never hear. Mother, father, two young sons. Sirius shook his head bitterly, mentally cursing whatever deity existed for that lack of subtlety, and continued on toward his destination.  
  
The presentation was, to Sirius’ surprise, more interesting that he’d expected. Remus had borrowed a checked shirt of Sirius’; sitting in the lecture hall as Remus gave his presentation, Sirius couldn’t help but smirk a little at how professorial he looked - grey cable knit with elbow patches, maroon chinos, scuffed brown brogues polished as best they could be. He had looked so comfortable, oozing confidence, a gladiator in his arena. Sirius had felt like bursting with pride.

Things had, however, changed. Once the lights had come up and the guests had begun to mingle, glasses of cheap wine in hand, Sirius had felt claustrophobic. He didn’t want to make small talk with Remus’ professors about history, or about what he did for a living. He didn’t want to hang onto Remus’ arm, staring at him adoringly and laughing at all his razor-sharp academic jokes. He wanted to go home, and sleep, and _forget_. 

Now, he was stood at the back of the room, grinding his teeth and speaking to no one as he watched Remus _flirt_. The careful laughter, the way Remus focused all his attention on the guy in front of him, the light touch on the arm. The guy was blond - he was pretty certain Remus had introduced him as John, but he couldn’t remember his surname. _Dakin? Dawkins?_ What did it matter, anyway? Sirius was transported back to university, to horrible feelings of inadequacy and unrequited love, and to a very specific afternoon a year ago. He had sat on a bench outside a coffee shop, watching Remus on a date with another blond, Sturgis Podmore. Sirius remembered the seething jealousy he’d felt then, the ache of a betrayal he dare not name, because they weren’t together then, and _what claim did he have over Remus if they weren’t togethe_ r? 

They were together now, though. And he knew what Remus would say - he was being dramatic, he was over-thinking things, it wasn’t a big deal. Some part of Sirius’ anxiety-riddled brain knew there was an element of truth in that; Remus didn’t cheat. He was good and true and loyal to his bones, and if Sirius had thought about it, he’d have reminded himself that he had Remus’ heart.  But he didn’t want to _think_. He took an angry swig of his drink - orange juice, because he was driving, though he wished it were something stronger. 

Some time later, Remus made his way across the room to where Sirius was standing. His cheeks held that tell-tale sign of good cheer and a little too much wine, and he smiled lazily at Sirius. Sirius knew he should be charitable, he should let it go and swallow down the irritation, the anxiety, the rage. He also knew that wasn’t going to happen. 

“You ready to go?” he asked, the words flooding out in a harsh bark. 

“Sure,” Remus said, taken aback. “I’ll just grab my jacket.” 

Sirius could feel Remus’ penetrating eyes on his back as he led the way to the carpark, but he didn’t care. He was tired, tired of it all - tired of caring, tired of putting his body and his mind on the line. It didn’t matter that Sirius had always said to himself that he’d never get to the point where he gave up on feeling, like his mother and father. Right now, _not feeling_ sounded pretty damn good. 

It took a few moments of them driving in silence before Remus coughed, and spoke. 

“Are you ok?” he asked carefully. 

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius said, irritation in every syllable. 

“Er,” Remus paused awkwardly, and Sirius glanced at him to see him staring, perplexed. “You seem… tense.”

For a second, he considered not saying anything at all, weighing up his options. Then, Sirius gave into it. He gave into the stress of the day and the minefield that was his mind as a result. 

“Maybe I’m tense,” he growled, “because I’ve had to watch my boyfriend flirt with another guy all night.” 

“What?” Remus scoffed incredulously. “Sirius, what the _hell_ are you talking about?” 

“All I’m saying,” Sirius said, as he gripped the steering wheel, “is that someone who doesn’t know you’re in a relationship with me would probably be pretty surprised to find that out after your display with Dawkins tonight.” 

“Dawlish. And what do you mean, my display?” 

“Well, you were pretty cosy with him, weren’t you?” 

“Sirius Orion Black, are you jealous?” There was a hint of mockery in Remus’ voice. 

“Yeah, I am!” Sirius spat back. “Problem with that?” 

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car,” Remus repeated. 

“Re-“

“Sirius.” 

Sirius glanced into the rearview mirror, indicated, and pulled over. He switched off the engine, and turned in his seat to look at Remus. The other boy was staring straight ahead, a pulse throbbing in his jaw; his face was cast in that strange, ethereal yellow of the street lamps. 

“I’m not your property, Sirius,” Remus said firmly. “You don’t get to be irrationally jealous, ok? John is a friend, nothing more.” 

“Like Sturgis Podmore was a friend when we were at university?” 

“You were the one who shagged him to make a point, Sirius!” 

Sirius slammed his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration. 

“Rem, that’s not-“

“Can we just go home?” Remus interrupted, a note of finality in his voice that told Sirius it wasn’t really a question. “I don’t want to fight with you here.” 

Sirius sighed. He looked over for a moment, contemplating ignoring that request and letting rip. Then again, _knowing Remus_ , he thought bitterly, _he’d just get out of the car and walk away_. Sirius said nothing, instead pushing the car into first gear, and pulling back onto the road. The two of them continued their journey in silence. 

They arrived at Caraway Street some time later, still having not said a word. Sirius parked the car, and strode toward the front door, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if Remus was following. He didn’t need to; just from the electric tension crackling in the air, he knew Remus was right behind him, could sense his presence. They swiftly made it to the top floor, and Sirius put the keys in the lock, shoving his body against the part of the door that always stuck. He’d given it too much force and he tumbled into the flat, nearly falling. 

James’ face lit up as they walked in; oblivious, as ever, to the tension that pulled and stretched between them, the third part of their relationship. 

“Hey guys, how was-“ 

“Not now, Prongs,” Sirius growled. He felt a pang of regret as he saw the crestfallen look on James’ face, but he and Remus continued straight into their room. 

As soon as the door was closed, Remus rounded on him.

“What the hell is going on with you tonight?” 

Sirius ran a hand over his face. He could tell him, of course - he could tell Remus that he’d gone to his father’s club and that Orion had damn near killed him, and it had shaken him to his core. He’d become unmoored. But he didn’t want to do that, he didn’t want Remus to look at him with that pity, that look which said y _ou’ve got issues and I love you anyway._ He didn’t want to hand over how he felt to yet another person. 

“I told you already,” he replied through gritted teeth, “I’m _fine_.”

“Really?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows. “Cus you’re not acting like you’re fine.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Sure, let’s deflect from you onto me because _I’m the fucked up one_ , right, Remus?”

“Well, I’m not the one who’s paranoid about something that’s objectively not happened, so something’s fucked you up tonight, Sirius.” 

Sirius went cold. He strode over, body thrumming with rage. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the dresser; the red flush at his cheeks and the scowl contorted his face into a striking resemblance of his father. If he wasn’t so angry, he’d have laughed at that. 

“Take that back,” he spat, face inches from Remus’. “Moony, _you take that back._ ” 

“I’ll take it back when you take back the blind accusation of me _flirting_ with John.” 

“I wasn’t just accusing you, I was observing you!” 

“You know me, you know I’d never cheat!” Remus cried. “And, for what it’s worth, you don’t see me getting pissy about the fact that you have guys _and_ girls slavering all over you _all the damn time_.” 

“ _I’m not your property_ ,” Sirius fired back, mimicking Remus’ words from the car. “Why does it matter if they find me hot? _I’m_ not the one flirting!” 

“For the last fucking time, Sirius, I was not flirting,” Remus growled. 

“Fucking forget it,” Sirius snarled. He walked over to the laundry hamper, pulling his shirt over his head, forgetting for a second the bruises. He threw the garment vaguely in the direction of the hamper and turned round, only realising his error when he heard Remus gasp. 

“Pads,” Remus said, eyes going wide with shock. He crossed the room like lightning, standing in front of Sirius with his horrified eyes trained on the purple-red marks. 

“My dad,” Sirius replied gruffly, resolutely avoiding Remus’ eye and staring over his shoulder into the middle distance. “He came to the gallery today. Took me to his club, tried to buy me back into the family. Didn’t go well.”

“Babe-“

“No,” Sirius said vehemently, recognising the look on Remus’ face immediately. “Don’t you fucking dare pity me, Remus. Be angry, be hurt, be anything, but don’t fucking pity me.”

He reached forward and snatched up Remus’ hand. He wrapped it around his neck and pushing the fingers down. He ignored the terrified whimper that came from Remus’ throat. 

“You feel that?” Sirius growled, pressing Remus’ fingers over his pulse point where his heart raced with rage. “That’s me, and I’m alive, and I’m here. And I don’t need your fucking pity, Remus.”

“I’m not-“

“Yes,” Sirius spat, “you are. But I’m not letting him have the satisfaction of ruining everything, of degrading this-“ he gestured between the two of them with his free hand- “because of some poxy bruises. So look at them, Remus, and feel them, and feel angry about them or glad I’m still here, but don’t you dare pity me. So fucking forget about my father, I’d rather fight with you about something that actually matters.”

Remus watched as Sirius strode over to his side of the bed, sitting down with his back to Remus. He knew that body - he’d known it for years. He knew that Sirius held his tension in his chest, bracing himself and holding his breath without realising it. He knew tomorrow morning, Sirius would wince a little as he got out of bed, his muscles tight and sore along his shoulders and around his ribs. 

Remus walked over, and stood in front of him. He reached out a hand and ran his forefinger under Sirius’ chin, so that he lifted his face to look Remus in the eye. 

“Talk to me, would you?” Remus let out a huffing, soft chuckle. “You stubborn bastard.” 

“Remus-“ Sirius began, the anger rising in his voice again. 

“Hey,” Remus soothed, holding up his hands. “I’m listening, I’m listening.” 

Sirius eyed him warily for a second, running a hand over his jaw. Finally, he nodded, and spoke. 

“It makes me feel like shit, ok?” Sirius’ voice shook a little bit, and Remus sat down next to him. Their thighs pressed together, rooting them. “I saw you talking to _whatshisface_ -“

“John.”  
  
“Yeah, _John_. It just reminded me of all the times I didn’t have you and God, I wanted you so badly, and I was miserable, and I thought I’d never have you. And I was angry and just-“

“Needed to let it out?” 

“Yeah,” sighed Sirius. “And you know if this was the other way round, I’d be clamouring for you to forgive me. And instead you just _laughed_ , Rem!” Sirius looked up, vulnerability written all over his face. Remus felt a little bit like his insides were crumbling. “Like how I felt didn’t fucking matter. Because it’s me, right? I’m a drama queen, I’m always making a big deal of stuff, I need to _calm down and grow up_ or something.” 

The air was heavy between them, Sirius’ words suspended in it, frozen. 

“Do I really make you feel that way?” Remus asked gently. 

“Sometimes,” Sirius said in a very quiet voice, as he stared down at his hands. 

Remus took a moment to collect his thoughts. His mind felt like it was about to explode - anger and regret and remorse and a little indignation fought on the battleground of his brain. Finally, he spoke. 

“Sirius, look at me.” 

Sirius sighed, lifting his chin and turning his head to watch as Remus began to speak. 

“I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have said you were fucked up, I shouldn’t have made digs about you. I should have told you I was sorry for making you feel that way. Instead, I was a sarcastic bastard because, well, I _am_ a sarcastic bastard. I can be cold, and sneering, and cruel, and I can push people away. Too much up here, I think,” Remus added, tapping his temple with one finger. 

“You’re not cruel, that’s not what I meant, you’re-“ 

“Not all the time, but I can be, Sirius. God knows I keep you at arm’s length sometimes, and I’m fucking mad for you.” 

“Yeah, sometimes you do keep me at arm’s length,” Sirius breathed. 

“And you told me how you felt tonight, because that’s what you do,” Remus continued. “You’re all heart, and for what it’s worth, I think it’s intensely brave to wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s a kind of courage I’ve never had. And you-“ Remus broke off, smiling in a way Sirius had never seen him smile before, “you’re full of that courage. You’re a heart-all-in, give-it-everything kind of person; it’s the reason you’re James’ best friend, the reason you and Marlene click so well, and actually, the reason I fell for you. I don’t ever want you to think that I am anything other than madly in love with you, ok?” 

Sirius nodded slowly, letting Remus’ words sink in. 

“And,” Remus went on, “I don’t think you’re a drama queen who needs to grow up…” he trailed off swallowing, his eyes darting wildly. “In fact, I’m appalled I’ve let you think that’s my opinion. Far from it - I think you make all of us braver than you realise. You live vividly and to the corners of every extreme. And yes, your manic personality has the potential to drive me bananas. You once stole a lobster and kept it as a pet, and you brought home a random dog - who I now can’t live without, I have to begrudgingly add.” 

The two of them looked over to where Snuffles lay snoozing by the radiator. The great black dog looked up at them for a minute, his tail thumping against the floorboards, before he huffed and rested his head back down.

“He is an excellent dog, I have to say,” Sirius smiled sadly. 

“I’m mad for you, do you understand me?” Remus’ voice was low, anxious, desperate for Sirius to understand. “And I’m shit, I know I’m shit. I know I don’t tell you enough. You live your life like it’s fucking poetry and I…” He breathed out shakily. “Sometimes I don’t know how to compete with that.” 

“You’re not shit,” Sirius shook his head wildly, “you’re the furthest thing from shit. _God,_ Remus, you’re like…” Sirius bit down onto his lip, his eyes wild. “You’re perfect. You’re only thing that makes sense.”

“Nothing really makes sense, Sirius.” Remus chose his words carefully. “Not you, not me, not any of us.” 

“I shouldn’t have blown up at you tonight, I’m sorry,” Sirius said morosely, kicking one sock-clad foot out at his shoe. 

“It’s ok,” Remus said, cocking his head to one side and looking at Sirius. He scanned his face, looking for something that would explain all this hurt that Sirius was dredging up. Then- 

Comprehension dawned. 

“It’s the anniversary soon, isn’t it?” Remus asked, dreading the answer. 

“What?”

“Of when you left home. Seven years, if I’ve counted it correctly.” 

Sirius shrugged, looking away.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, in a small voice. “That’s not what this was about.” 

“Babe, you’re a terrible liar.” 

Sirius laughed at that, and Remus permitted himself a little smile, watching intently as the other boy turned back to look at him. 

“Just…” Sirius squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “Seeing my dad today really threw me, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know.” Remus breathed in, trying to find the words to console him. 

“And I’m fine, I am genuinely fine. I have a good job and good friends, and I’ve got a new family and I’ve got you. But _fuck_ , it hurts.” Sirius looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, and Remus knew it was to hold back tears. “And then standing there in that lecture hall, worrying that I _don’t_ have you…” 

"Oh, Sirius,” Remus said softly. 

“I left home for this.” Sirius took one of Remus’ hands in his own. “Obviously not specifically this, I didn’t know you then. But for the potential you. Like, one day I might meet a guy who I can’t live without, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit it. What would have happened if I didn’t leave? I’d have a secure home, and parents who supported me, and I’d spend every day living a lie. If I managed to keep living, that is.”

“And that, my love, is exactly what I mean when I say that you make us braver.”

“So give me a little something, Remus,” Sirius whispered, looking earnest, “give me something to anchor me. I can’t keep being the one who does all the feeling here.” 

Remus knew there was truth in what Sirius said. He was too careful with his heart. And he’d meant it, when he said that Sirius lived his life like it was poetry. He dripped meaning into every movement. Every glance, every brush of his fingertips was a word chosen carefully, chewed over and distilled.People didn’t see it, because of Sirius’ vitality, but Remus saw it - he saw the aching way Sirius wanted to _feel_ everything. He wanted the joy and the sorrow, the happiness and the pain, because it was everything that stilted, suffocating house had never been. 

He reached out for Sirius’ hand. Remus brought it to his chest, resting it over the point where his heart was thumping against his ribcage. 

“ _This_ ,” he said softly, emphasising every syllable, “is yours. It’s yours until the day I die. It’s yours now and it’ll be yours when I can’t remember my own fucking name. _Yours_.”

“Promise?” croaked Sirius, pressing his fingertips down so that Remus' heartbeat felt even stronger.

“Promise,” Remus whispered, nuzzling into Sirius’ neck. “I’m sorry I’ve ever made you feel like you have to ask.” 

“It’s ok,” Sirius replied, immediately. The words flowed out with ease, water rising up from a spring, fresh and clear. Loving Remus and forgiving him where the same thing, Sirius knew. 

“Also,” Remus said slowly, a funny little smile playing at his lips, “for what it’s worth, John is straight. Like, aggressively straight. Straighter-than-a-Roman-road kind of straight.” 

“Shut up, Remus,” Sirius huffed into his hair, squeezing him tight. 

“Just saying.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae


	14. *Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang have a Christmas dinner, Marlene has a moment, and then... well, there's bedroom activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This fic has changed to explicit, but I will mark the chapters with hot-and-steamy sections with an asterix. In this one, if you'd like to skip the smut, the first two sections are smut-free.

“You are your mother’s son, good God.”

Sirius surveyed the scene in front of him. James was swanning round the kitchen, floral apron on and flour in his hair, preparing what promised to be a truly delectable feast. The weather outside Caraway Street was dank and grey, a low mist hanging in the December air, and the kitchen was a heady paradise in comparison. 

“Mum is an angel, so I’ll take that as a great compliment,” retorted James, peering at a sheet of paper on the table, which was smeared with stains and marked with chicken-scratch. “And if you’re not busy, you can peel the potatoes for me.” 

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Sirius groaned, moving to the sink to wash his hands. 

James opened the oven, peering in at the turkey that sat proud inside it. 

“Where’s Rem?” asked Sirius, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma. 

“I sent him and Lily on another booze run, I’m worried we don’t have enough.” 

“Are you _joking_?” scoffed Sirius, glancing over to the two crates of wine at the side of the kitchen. 

“I just like to be prepared!” James cried, stirring a pan of red cabbage and making a face at Sirius, who laughed and fished for a tea towel to dry his hands.

“Jesus Christ, we’re going to be pissed. Who’s coming tonight, again? I’m sure I looked at the Facebook event, but I can’t remember.” 

“So there’s you, me, Remus, then the girls, then Gideon and Fabian, and Amelia.” James counted on his fingers, before looking up. “Oh! And Marlene’s plus-one.” 

“Who’s Marls bringing?” Sirius asked, dipping his finger into one of the bowls on the counter top. 

“I don’t know, but— _Sirius, would you get your hands out of the brandy butter_!"

“Fine,” Sirius muttered, reaching for the potato peeler. 

* * *

Three hours later, the Marauders, Lily and Dorcas were assembled in the sitting room, as Sirius opened a bottle of champagne and began to pour it out into the glasses set neatly on a tray. Snuffles had — _much to his chagrin_ — been shut away in Remus and Sirius’ room after his evening walk, due to the fact that he’d devolved a sophisticated hoovering technique that could demolish an unattended plate of canapés in seconds. They were waiting on Marlene, along with the Prewett twins and Amelia.

“Hey guys,” came Marlene’s voice from the hall.

“Sitting room!” Sirius called back over his shoulder, and handed Lily a glass of champagne. 

“Evening, gang,” said Marlene, as she walked into the room. Sirius registered the baffled look on Dorcas’ face as he handed her a glass, and pivoted, to see Marlene walk into the room, swiftly followed by Hestia. 

“Oh!” Lily said softly. She glanced sideways, and Sirius caught her eye, widening his in a motion of bafflement. There was a pause, a moment of vacuum as the air evacuated the space between them all, replaced by some uncomfortable spectre. 

“Well, this is lovely,” James said breezily, a big smile plastered on his face, and clapped his hands together. Sirius looked away, biting into his cheek so as not to laugh, because James was _so_ like his father. 

“Here, Hestia, have some champagne,” Sirius added quickly, passing her a flute of the golden liquid. 

“Cheers,” Hestia replied, the look on her face a mix between amusement and boredom. James motioned to the sofa as Sirius continued to hand round glasses, ensuring Marlene and Remus had suitable libation. 

“You guys do this a lot?” continued Hestia, taking a sip. 

“Christmas dinner?” James asked, confused, and Lily stood on his foot. 

“The six of us usually have a couple of meals together a week, yeah,” she smiled politely, and offered Hestia a canapé. “The twins and Amelia join when they can, you know.” 

“That’s… sweet,” Hestia said, with a smile Lily couldn’t decipher. 

“Do you see a lot of your uni friends?” Remus asked, sitting on a chair next to Hestia. He tucked his ankles together so daintily that Sirius had to look away before he sniggered — _Remus Lupin, one of a kind._

Hestia shrugged. “Here and there, we don’t all live together like you guys do.”

They were interrupted at that moment by the doorbell shrilling, which Remus hastened to answer. Sirius glanced over his shoulder from where he’d been handing Dorcas a glass of champagne to see the Prewett twins walk into the room — Gideon first, Fabian second — followed by Amelia. 

“Hey troops!” Gideon said loudly, shaking James’ hand and giving Lily a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Hi!” Lily cried, jumping up to greet them. She embraced Amelia, who had, in her typical, wonderful way, brought flowers and wine and chocolates. Amelia had been Lily’s friend first — if you didn’t count her and Sirius’ drunken one-night-stand in first year as friendship, of course. She was a curvy, pretty young woman, with cinnamon hair that danced with flecks of copper and auburn, and kind, friendly eyes. 

“How’s it going, pal?” asked Sirius, giving Gideon a hug. 

“Not too bad, not too bad,” Gideon grinned, as Fabian and Remus fell into conversation. Remus had always got on best with Fabian; he was the quieter of the twins, a little scatterbrained and far more laidback in comparison to his brother’s type-A personality. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” blustered James, almost shoving Fabian towards an armchair. 

“Have you met Hestia?” Remus asked the twins politely, as they decanted themselves into chairs. 

“Only briefly, at Halloween,” replied Gideon. The look on his face was easy to decipher — Gideon and Marlene had ended long ago, Sirius knew, but that didn’t stop him being protective, and they’d all seen Hestia’s display with Gwenog Jones at the Caraway Halloween event. Hestia smiled tightly. 

The group’s exchange was, to say the least, stilted. For once, Sirius hung back in the conversation; he leant against the sideboard, bringing his glass to his lips as he surveyed the scene. Marlene and Hestia had squeezed onto the remaining space on the sofa, Marlene with her body turned to face Hestia and a look on her face that bordered on adoration. She seemed caught on every awkward, cautious word that left Hestia’s lips, as Lily and Remus attempted small talk. Fabian and James were talking rugby — they always would, given half the chance, as they’d gone from playing together at school and university to joining the same amateur, Saturday morning club. If not for the unnaturalness of the company, it would be a cosy, almost-suburban tableau. 

Dorcas was perched on the sofa arm the other side of Lily, a fiercely mutinous look on her face. Every now and then, she’d glance over at where Marlene and Hestia were sitting, surveying the pair of them and Marlene’s almost slavering expression. At one point, she caught Sirius’ eye and raised her eyebrows, the facial expression she was displaying very clearly spelling out three words: _what the fuck._ Sirius winked back. 

Then, there was something about Gideon and Amelia, whose knees were pressed against each other, and who were sharing a low, thoughtful conversation about something that Sirius couldn’t quite make out. The soft smile that played at Gideon’s lips seemed to suggest something Sirius couldn’t decipher; was it flirting, perhaps, a promise of a _later_ , and a kiss shared on the stairs or the porch, away from the rest of the group’s prying eyes? 

Sirius felt strangely distant from them all, even Remus. He was on edge, in a way he’d not been since his father’s visit; something about the evening felt threatening, almost. He longed to run his fingers through Remus’ hair, to press his palm against the sandy blonde curls before pulling Remus to his feet, coaxing him gently into their room where they might be safe, shut up against the world. There, Sirius could slowly divest Remus of his clothes, pressing his lips against the sharp line of his jaw, all the way down his neck, his sternum, until…

Sirius shook himself. _Not the time_ , he thought. Upon noticing the declining quantities of liquid in everyone’s glasses, he volunteered to refill them. He gathered them on one of the trays set upon the coffee table, grateful for an excuse to leave the room, and hurried through into the kitchen. The smell of the cooking turkey was rich and sumptuous, but it seemed to stick in the back of Sirius’ throat, cloying and close. Shaking himself, he spun on his heels as he heard someone following him into the room. 

“God, it’s so awkward in there, isn’t it?” Amelia said, eyes wide as she brought in the other tray of glasses for Sirius to refill. 

“Poor Jem’s really trying,” Sirius chuckled back, “but even he’s struggling.”

“Who invited Hestia?” asked Amelia, watching Sirius uncork another bottle of champagne.

“Marls invited her — beats me why she still sees her. Can’t work out if they’re shagging and Marls actually gets something out of this, or if she’s just self-flagellating by being friends.”

“Yeah, cus Marlene’s fucking great, and Hestia’s _such_ a bitch.” 

Sirius stopped, staring at her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sirius, you know it’s true,” she continued. 

“I wasn’t disagreeing,” chuckled Sirius, “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something unkind about anyone before.”

“Well,” Amelia huffed, sliding her tray of drinks along the work surface for Sirius to fill with champagne, “I think it’s deserved.” 

“No disagreements there,” Sirius replied. 

They stood in silence for a moment, comfortable in one another’s company as the effervescent golden liquid fizzed up in the flutes on each tray. Sirius glanced across, transported suddenly to the moment weeks earlier where it had not been Amelia standing next to him, but Peter. Peter, who had been awkward and uncomfortable even for him, who had confessed his affections for Marlene, who had been so abnormal. 

“Things with you and Remus…” Amelia leant back against the cabinets, and looked at him. “You guys seem good.”

Sirius gave her a little smile, abashed for some reason. 

“We are. Nothing’s perfect, right? Like I’m not pretending we don’t have problems every now and then, that’d be weird. But it’s good, yeah.” 

“Perfect’s not the same as good,” Amelia shrugged. 

“What about you? Little birdy called Emmeline Vance told me at Halloween that you’ve broken things off with Diggory.” Sirius raised his eyebrows and grinned. 

“Yeah, back at the end of the summer,” Amelia said, with a goodnatured roll of her eyes. “And I don’t know why I bother asking Emmeline to be discreet, she’s got such a big mouth.” 

Sirius laughed at that, lifting his champagne glass to his lips and taking another grateful gulp. The alcohol hit his tongue, the bubbles fizzing and popping delightfully against the soft flesh of his mouth. He swallowed, and then spoke. 

“So, c’mon, spill. There’s something’s—“ Sirius moved his glass, gesturing vaguely at her— “different. Who’re you shagging? I won’t tell.” 

“Promise?” Amelia asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I never told anyone when we shagged in first year, did I?” Sirius shot back. 

“Please don’t remind me, I try to forget that happened.” 

“Rude.” 

“It’s Gideon,” she said, with a grin.  
  
“ _What_?” Sirius gaped, the word rushing out louder than he intended. Amelia shushed him, swatting her hand against his arm.

“Don’t yell it so the whole flat hears, Sirius!” she hissed.

And then it made sense — the glances the two had been sharing, the shy smiles that Sirius had caught as he’d handed round champagne. To be sure, Gideon and Amelia made a striking pair — he was well-built, with a face smattered with freckles and a shock of fiery hair. He was acerbic, a natural leader full of charisma and an unquenchable, unyielding sense of right and wrong; she was a subtler force, a glacier in the face of his crashing tides. It seemed so _obvious_ now Sirius thought about it, that two souls like theirs might gravitate towards one another.

“It’s weird.” Amelia shook her head, looking towards the door with a small smile. “We’ve been friends for _so_ long, and we always bonded over the whole twin-thing. I guess it just felt right, after all this time.” 

“How is Edgar?” Sirius asked after Amelia’s twin brother — Remus’ ex — out of politeness, and possibly out of a touch of morbid curiosity. 

“He’s okay,” Amelia said slowly. “Doing his postgrad in America, so I’ve not seen him since the summer.” 

“He home for Christmas?” 

“Yeah, and don’t worry,” Amelia fixed him with a look, “he’s got a new boyfriend.”

“Hey,” Sirius laughed, holding up his hands, “I didn’t ask.” 

“Fuck off, Sirius,” she snorted. “He’s not gonna try and get back with Remus at New Year.” 

“That easy to read, am I?” 

“Yeah,” Amelia chuckled, “you are.” 

“C’mon,” Sirius handed her a tray of fresh drinks, and jerked his head towards the door as he picked up the other. “Let's get back into the firing line, shall we?” 

“If we must,” muttered Amelia with a conspiratorial grin. 

The two of them returned to the sitting room, only to find Hestia on her feet, shrugging on his coat. James and Marlene were both standing, everyone else still sitting and quite clearly resolutely avoiding one another’s eye. 

“See you later, Hestia,” James said, his beaming smile a little stretched, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. 

“See you guys,” the brunette replied, waving a hand and turning. She and Marlene made their way to the hall, where they had some hushed conversation that Sirius couldn’t hear. He glanced at the rest of the group. 

“Er,” he looked awkwardly round the room, “what’s—“

He was interrupted by Marlene’s return. She strode over to the armchair she’d been sitting in, her movements stiff and uncomfortable as they trained their eyes on her back. Spinning around, she sat down, and Sirius turned his head to one side, looking at her expectantly. 

“Hestia’s got another thing to go to,” Marlene said stiffly. The look on her face was challenge — _go on, Sirius, I dare you to make a comment._ Sirius could see Remus grimacing out the corner of his eye, and resolved to say nothing. 

“Well, it was lovely that she was able to come, even for a short time,” added James smoothly.

“Are you alright?” asked Amelia gently, her forehead crinkled in concern as she looked at Marlene. 

“ _Yes_ ,” spat Marlene waspishly, “I’m _fine_. Alright? None of you need to ask me, I am _fine_. Just because I don’t do _loved up_ like the rest of you do, doesn’t mean I’m falling apart, alright?” 

“Oi, Marls, we love you, but you’re being a dick right now,” Gideon said, sharper than usual. Sirius watched Amelia lay a soothing hand on Gideon’s arm. There was a moment of awkward pause, before Marlene’s shoulders slumped, and she looked up with glistening eyes. 

“You’re right,” she sighed, and gave Amelia an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Amelia.” 

“No harm done,” Amelia replied, holding up a hand. “I get it — it hurts. It hurts to hand your heart over to someone and have them take that for granted.” 

“You’re a fucking angel, you know that right?” Marlene chuckled. Sirius noticed Gideon’s subtle, gentle look of affection towards Amelia, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. 

“C’mon,” James said, jerking his head towards the kitchen, “I’ve not spent hours basting that fucking turkey for it to spoil over Hestia.” 

Marlene laughed, as the group stood, the icy discomfort that had inhabited the room since Hestia’s arrival beginning to thaw just a little. 

“You’re one of a kind, James Potter,” she said. 

* * *

The party had wrapped up at midnight. The inhabitants of Caraway Street had waved goodbye to the Prewetts and Amelia, Sirius smiling indulgently as he saw the latter slip her hand into Gideon’s as they descended to the street. Marlene had drunk too much, because _of course she did_ , after Hestia’s antics. Dorcas had wrapped a steady arm around her and helped her down the stairs to their flat, as Lily fretted over whether to go with them or stay with James as she’d planned. Then, they’d said their goodnights, Remus and Sirius padding into their room to find a slumbering Snuffles sprawled across their bed. After only minor chastisement from Remus, the dog had begrudgingly agreed to decamp to his basket, and was staring at Sirius with baleful eyes as he shucked his shirt off and flung it towards the laundry hamper. 

Sirius felt hands snake round his waist, and Remus’ head tucking onto his shoulder. He breathed deeply, feeling the press of Remus’ chest against his back, the steady _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart reverberating against Sirius’ ribcage. Then, he felt Remus’ hands go for his belt, and a frisson of excitement pierced his wine-induced haze, clawing his consciousness back from the slippery grip of sleep. 

They hadn’t had sex in weeks, not since the fight. And Sirius was fine with that — they’d done other stuff, of course. But he’d been craving the feeling of Remus’ skin against his, the idea of being so close to one another they might just bleed into one membrane, given over to each other once and for all. Maybe _that_ had been the reason for all the unease he’d been feeling all night. 

Sirius twisted so as to face Remus, planting a gentle set of kisses into the silk of his neck. 

“Been a while, hey?” Sirius murmured against his collarbone.

“Yeah,” Remus huffed. “Feels fucked up how long it’s been, to be honest.” 

“Could be worse,” continued Sirius, raising a hand and brushing the hair from Remus’ forehead, “could be as fucked up as Marls and Hestia.” 

Remus gave a gentle snort. Sirius studied his face, enamoured with the way it crinkled with amusement, so expressive at every turn. Remus wasn’t _conventionally_ attractive, not in the way James was, or the way Sirius knew himself to be; Sirius, of course, had all of that aloofness, that friction and contradiction and delicious boredom. But Remus… Remus had that quirky way of turning the corners of his mouth up, or biting down on his lower lip when he was thinking deeply, that made Sirius want to catch his jaw between his fingers and press their lips together. He wanted Remus to unravel before him, to breathe his secrets into their kiss. So different, the two of them, and yet so alike; both forces of nature, things to be reckoned with.

“I love you,” Sirius said hoarsely. “I do, Remus.”

“Pardon?” Remus felt like his head was swimming. 

“I love you,” Sirius said, more deliberately this time. “I know I always say it jokingly, but I really do love you, Remus John Lupin. I love how smart you are, and how you’re basically the human-embodiment of sarcasm, and how you call me on my bullshit.” 

“Quite a lot of it to call you on, I have to say.” 

“Remus,” Sirius chided, raising his eyebrows and running his fingers through Remus’ sandy curls. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready.” 

“I _want_ to say it back. Sometimes I’m bad at showing you how I feel, you know this,” Remus murmured, running a hand along Sirius’ jaw. “I never thought _I’d_ be the emotionally-stunted one out of the two of us.” 

“You’re not emotionally stunted,” chuckled Sirius, leaning his head towards Remus’ hand. “You’re just different to me. I’ve got all this, I don’t know, _energy_ that needs to go somewhere, I guess.”

“Wildfire,” Remus hummed, “you’re like wildfire. I can’t keep up sometimes.” 

“ _God_ , Remus,” muttered Sirius, giving him a wide-eyed look, “of course you can keep up. I’m convinced there’s a torrent within you, begging to be released.” 

“Won’t be the only thing begging at this rate.” Remus was panting now, his hazel eyes glinting with animalistic lust. 

“Well, you did just call me insanely hot,” Sirius smirked. “It’s understandable you might beg.” 

“What?” Remus frowned, pulling away from where he’d been nipping at Sirius’ neck. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 

“Wildfires are really hot, aren’t they?”

“Sirius, shut the fuck up.” 

And then Sirius’ hand was moving just how he liked it, and Remus thought he might _explode_. He fumbled with Sirius’ belt as they walked backwards, lips caught together. Sirius felt the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees, and he let himself give way, collapsing onto the bed with Remus following in quick succession. They fumbled with belts, with the buttons on Remus’ shirt, not wanting to separate themselves from one another’s lips for longer than a couple of seconds.

When Remus did pull back, Sirius emitted a whine of protest, until he saw the wolfish grin on Remus’ face as he sank to his knees. There was a hitch in his breathing as Remus hooked his thumbs into Sirius’ boxers, sliding them down his hips and taking him in with such a look of adoration, Sirius could practically see him salivating. 

Remus took him in his mouth and Sirius moaned, low and throaty. The feeling of Remus’ hot, wanting mouth on him was phenomenal, exquisite, otherworldly. Sirius could have laughed at it. They were a cliche, such a cliche — what had they just called each other, _a torrent and a wildfire_? Because that’s what they were, fire and water, restless and raging, two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole. And Sirius knew, this was it - he was going to be imprisoned in this battle Royale for the rest of his life, waging war with Remus and against Remus and against himself. 

But they were good— so good, so perfect. Remus was balm to his wounds. He was the smoothing of Sirius’ rough edges, the balance to his stumbling attempts at manhood. They were dichotomy and unity wrapped up in some contradictory whole, what words could not — _would not_ — express. 

“Moony, Moony,” Sirius managed to choke out, “c’mere.” 

Remus surfaced, pressing his lips against Sirius’ and whispering into them. 

“I wanna fuck.”

“Top or bottom?” Sirius hissed as he canted his hips against Remus. Because how could he refuse when those lovely three words had tumbled forth from Remus’ lips? How could he do anything other than hand over the reins and yield all sense of control? He’d let Remus decide tonight. 

“Don’t care,” came the reply. “I don’t fucking care.”  


 

* * *

Across the hall, Lily was lying on her back, James looming over her and pressing kisses along her exposed collarbones. Their clothes lay in a rumpled pile upon the floor, shirt and dress wrapped together. Lily sunk her hands into James’ rumpled hair, emitting a soft sigh as she did so. 

“What?” he asked, stilling. His forehead furrowed as he looked at her, his light grey eyes meeting her green ones. 

“I love you, James Fleamont Potter,” Lily whispered, bringing his lips to hers again. “I’m very glad we’ve never had the kind of dance around that Marlene and Hestia have.”

“I love you, Lily Joanne Evans,” James murmured against her lips, “and I’m very glad of that too.” 

He kissed her, deep and slow. Lily let her fingers trail down James’ neck, revelling in the groan he emitted against her lips as she reached his collarbones. She took in the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, the sharp, angular line of his jaw. James had always been appealing to women, in the sort of _take him home to your mother_ kind of way. He was physically attractive, sure — all chestnut hair and big shoulders and light grey eyes. But he was also earnest, good; so unashamedly himself. He loved with a kind of depth that took your breath away, both platonically and romantically. And he made her happy, didn’t he? He made her blissfully, _achingly_ happy. 

When she’d ended up in bed with him, it was a case of _wow_ , _that was a surprise_. She’d expected that vein of frenetic energy that coursed through James to be at its most prominent when they were pressed together, clothes strewn across the room and hands roaming, teasing, fumbling… She’d expected him to bounce off the walls, but James liked it slow, liked telling her what to do in a low, deep voice. Lily sometimes joked that the only time James knew how to be patient was when he was teasing her, building her up for the moment when the floodgates would open. She loved the way she could go boneless and breathless underneath him, moaning his name and handing over control because she  _knew_ he'd take care of her. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes trailing down her body like oozing honey, and Lily wanted to squirm under that delicious gaze. James tilted his head to one size and pressed his lips to the crease of her knee. His breath against the sensitive skin felt like fire. 

“ _So. Fucking. Beautiful_ ,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a soft kiss up her inner thigh, until his mouth hovered over her centre. 

“Don’t tease,” Lily whispered, a delicate blush creeping up her neck and onto the creamy crests of her cheeks. 

“You know I love to tease you,” James replied, a wicked grin on his face as he looked up at her. Lily reached out a hand and James threaded his fingers through hers, the grin softening a little as he rooted her, anchored her. 

Because she was unfettered like the fucking _oceans_ when he did this to her. Lily didn’t know how the hell James was so good at this — she frankly didn’t want to ask, suspecting Sirius had something to do with it. With James’ mouth on her, Lily thought she might get lost in it all, in all the waves and crests of pleasure. She let out a throaty moan, her eyes slipping closed. 

James started slow, his tongue moving languidly up her lips until he reached her clit. He circled it lazily with his tongue, tracing patterns and whispering soft nothings against her, making Lily go boneless and loose with the pleasure. James stayed like that, working at her with his tongue as he slipped two fingers inside of her, coaxing and gentle. He could do this forever, edging Lily closer, closer, closer until—

“ _James_ ,” she gasped. 

James coaxed her through, as the parabola of pleasure rose and fell within her. He kissed softly against the crease where her hip met her torso, then up the blank canvas of her stomach and between her breasts. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Lily said breathlessly, canting her hips forward to try and garner some friction against James’ tented boxers. 

“Yeah?” James asked, pulling back and surveying her with that same-old grin. He reached a hand out and ran his thumb over her lips, pushing the tip of it into her mouth for a second. “I think you need to be patient just a little bit longer, my love.” 

“Uh-uh,” Lily shook her head, “I can’t.” 

“No?” He leant forward again and sucked on Lily’s pulse point, the nip of his teeth bringing forth a blossom of dianthus flowers against her pale skin. “Are you sure?” 

“I need you,” Lily breathed into James’ ear, and she felt the jump of his cock against her centre. “I need your perfect cock inside me.” 

James groaned, his facade slipping just a touch. Because if James knew how to tease, Lily knew damn well how to talk dirty. She knew how to send the perfect text message when they were apart, or whisper exquisite, _filthy_ nothings into James’ ear when he was inside her that would send him ricocheting over the edge. 

“Miss Evans, you’ve got the dirtiest mouth, you know that?” James laughed, and rolled to one side to push his boxers down off his hips. 

“That’s what happens when you tease me for too long,” Lily replied with a wicked grin, letting her hand trail down her body so that it was between her thighs. She was sensitive — probably too sensitive to come again already — but she knew how it drove James mad to watch her touch herself. His light grey eyes went dark, and he reached a hand down to languidly stroke his ownthick, straining prick, circling the tip with his thumb. Lily reached out and cupped his cheek, drawing his eyes away from where she was working at her clit. 

“ _Fuck_ , I could watch you all night,” James growled, suddenly stilling his hand and rolling over again so they were pressed against one another, “but if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come before we’ve even got to the good bit.” 

“Oh?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “It hasn’t been good so far?” 

James gave her a heart-stopping grin. 

“You know if I could spent my whole life dining on you, I would.” 

“ _What a line_ ,” Lily giggled, the sound reverberating in her chest as it pressed against James’. 

“No word of a lie, though,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her softly.

Then, he was pressing the tip of his cock against her folds, eliciting a gasp as he brushed against Lily’s clit. 

“James,” she whispered, eyes slipping closed as her body hummed with anticipation. 

As he pressed forward, James reached a hand up, tangling it in Lily’s long red hair. He was careful with it — he knew how she hated him to be too forceful, because it wasn’t pain Lily wanted. The tension was just-so, enough to anchor her as she lost herself in the sensation, in James, in _them_. 

“I love you,” murmured James, nipping at her collarbone.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker


	15. *Sedona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas, and then New Year for the Marauders. Sirius has flashbacks to a Slytherin Club party, and Peter is acting odd at New Year's Eve.
> 
> A chapter for the lovely @jennandblitz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am baaaaaack. Posting will resume as semi-regularly as normal! 
> 
> There's a touch of smut in this, just before the horizontal line break. If you'd like to skip it, stop reading after Sirius gets to his bedroom and skip to the next section.

“James! Sirius!”

“Yeah, I’m coming, Mum!” James yelled over his shoulder, hunting in his wardrobe for a pair of smart shoes. Finding them, he bounded out of his bedroom and onto the small landing outside. For most of his life, James had the top floor of the house to himself; his room, the bathroom with its sloping ceiling and ancient roll-top bath, the guest room across the tiny landing. Then, Sirius had moved in, and the top floor of the house, with its uneven floors and small, dormer windows had stopped being _James’_ and become _theirs._

Stepping out of his bedroom at exactly the same time as James was Sirius, shoving his shirt tails into his belt and running a hand through his still-damp hair. 

“Jesus Christ, eh?” grinned James, flinging himself onto the top stair and stuffing his feet into his brown brogues. 

“She’s a hell of a woman, your mother,” Sirius replied, as he sat down and began hastily tying his tie. 

“ _Our_ mother,” James corrected.

“How long do you think we have to show face for? I said I’d ring Rem tonight, if I got the chance.” 

“You really think you’re going to get away from the collected lunatics downstairs? This party happens every year, and you and I both know we just get exceedingly drunk every time.” 

“Christmas traditions, brother,” laughed Sirius. 

Euphemia’s voice floated up the stairs again from two floors below. 

“James Fleamont! I will not call you again!”

“Using your full name, she’s bringing out the big guns,” teased Sirius. 

“Showtime, I think,” James grinned, and gambolled down the stairs. Sirius laughed, pushing himself to his feet, and followed upon his heels. 

The Christmas Eve party at the Potters’ was, as Sirius had expected, like it was every year. Phe had made too much food, just as she always did; Monty’s punch was extraordinarily lethal, as ever. James and Sirius took round trays of little silver punchbowls, each one sparking with piles of ice and the edible glitter of which Monty was so fond. The house buzzed and hummed with conversation, pockets of laughter bursting forth out of groups in the hall or the drawing room, Christmas carols rising into the air and settling in moments of pause as people ate and drank. 

Sirius had cried the first year he’d spent Christmas with the Potters, that first year of university after Alphard died in the October. He’d cried because James had shown him the invitations Monty and Phe had prepared for the party that year. In neat gold lettering across the cream-coloured card, the details of the party had been spelled out, nothing extraordinary until Sirius had reached the final line: _we look forward to seeing you! Love Monty, Phe, James, and Sirius._

And the kind of people the Potters knew, the kind of people they chose to surround themselves with, they were the kind of people who hadn’t even questioned it. There’d been no awkward questions of _why_ or _for how long_ or _because of what._ That first party, the only stressful experience was getting stuck in the corner with a rambling Silvanus Kettleburn and glaring daggers at a hysterical James and Monty whenever the old man shut his eyes in the middle of a story, searching for some no-doubt mundane and intensely boring artefact to add to the tale. 

Now, in the fifth year of Sirius’ name being added to the invitation, not much had changed. There were still collections of people Sirius had never got round to talking to — artist friends of Phe, some old friends of Monty’s from when he’d worked in the City, all those years ago. The Prewett twins were there, of course, and made a beeline for James and Sirius. They had grown up with James in their little village in the West Country; Gideon and Fabian had been James’ close companions, and their older sister, Molly, his one-time babysitter. She was married now - a Weasley, not a Prewett - with one baby and another on the way. At some point, Molly would come over and James would fuss over the one-year-old on her hip — _was he called Ben? No, Bill, that was it_ — and Sirius would be reminded of how James was going to make the _best_ father. 

Still, the party wasn’t really Sirius’ _thing_ , if he was honest. Sure, the company was nice, and he usually found someone interesting to talk to, but it all felt a bit… _much._ After so many Black family parties, the whole atmosphere put him on edge. Sirius thought back to a particularly odious party at the Slytherin Club. He had been fifteen, and furious. He couldn’t for the life of him remember _what_ had been the source of his ire, or why he and his parents had spat words at each other, firing barbs at every opportunity. The ride over to the club had been wretched; he and Regulus had been stuffed into the rear seats of their father’s town car, gussied up in dinner jackets and bowties. They’d not spoken, not until right before the car came to a stop, when Regulus had laid a hand on Sirius’ forearm and drawn him from staring into the distance out of the window, his sour reverie. 

_God_ , Regulus looked like their mother. They’d both inherited the Black trademark high cheekbones, but where Sirius had Orion’s strong jaw, Regulus had that pinched, tight look about him that was just so _Walburga_. His eyes were a light amber, a little disconcerting alongside his dark brows and pale, almost translucent skin. When they were children, Sirius had wickedly referred to his brother as _the changeling_. 

“Just… don’t make it worse, alright?” Regulus had pleaded in that soft, near-girlish whisper he used to use. Sirius had swallowed, and looked away. 

Orion was less subtle. Once they’d passed through the doors, and Walburga had been divested of that horrible fur coat, Orion had pressed his fingers around Sirius’ upper arm and directed him to a corridor to one side of the hall. Sirius had thought about fighting. He’d thought about stamping his feet and snarling something at his father, throwing punches and letting his rage boil up and spill over. But, Regulus’ words rang in his ears: _don’t make it worse_. And Sirius knew, he knew how much worse it would be if he fought now; he knew what would happen when the front door of Grimmauld Place closed behind them and Orion once again was king upon his throne. 

“Embarrass me tonight,” Orion had murmured out the corner of his mouth, an unlit cigar hanging out the other side, “and I’ll flay you within an inch of your life. Do you understand me, you little cunt?”

Sirius hadn’t been able to answer, as Orion’s forearm had been pinning him to the wall, stopping the air from filling his lungs. He couldn’t nod, either; his father’s other hand had wrapped around his neck where it met his chin, thumb on one side of his jaw and middle finger on the other. So, he had done what Orion had taught him all those years ago: _two blinks for yes, one blink for no_. 

“Excellent,” his father breathed as Sirius rapidly shut his eyes twice. He grinned, that lazy, indulgent grin that showed his nicotine-stained teeth and let forth a gust of his fetid, alcohol-haunted breath. With that, he released his son, and sauntered away. 

And then, Sirius was performing. The party was a stage and this his _danse macabre_ ; he was walking on the thinnest of ice and waiting for it to crack. Every fake smile he offered to one of the other guests, or polite response to “ _oh, don’t you look like your father_?” was just another unsteady step toward the moment when it all collapsed underneath him and he was submerged.

The highlight of the evening had been the moment he’d come across a girl in the morning room — Athena, her name had been, although he could never remember if she was a Slughorn or a Carrow. She’d looked about as miserable as he was, and one-too-many glasses of crisp, smooth crémant later, they’d found themselves ensconced behind the drapes. Their kisses had been inelegant, but she’d let him slide his hands under her dress and feel the top of her lace stockings, before they’d been interrupted. He’d let the memory of that sensation turn over and over on the way home to Grimmauld Place, flooding his other senses.

That Christmas had, really, been the beginning of the end. He’d returned to school in the January, simultaneously glad to be away from Grimmauld and also loathing of the fact he was surrounded by people he, for the most part, despised. They’d read Seneca that term in Latin, Sirius remembered, and he’d become obsessed with one phrase, playing it over and over and over again in his mind as he tried to sleep: _it is not the last drop that empties the water-clock, but all that which previously has flowed out_.

The memories became too much for Sirius, as he stood in the Potters’ kitchen and tried to refill punch glasses with shaking hands. He slipped away, up the narrow, steep staircase in the back hall by the scullery. It wound itself like vines in the space between the walls; up one floor, then another, then down a corridor and up again, until it emerged on the landing of the third floor, right next to the steps up to the attic. Every time Sirius ascended it, he pondered the hundreds of servants’ feet that must have once scurried up and down it like mice in the dark, while their masters languidly descended the curvature of the wide, elegant staircase in the hall. 

Finally, Sirius reached the safe haven on his bedroom, ducking under the low lintel so as not to bang his head on the sloping roof. The air was cooler than downstairs, away from the heat of all those bodies and all that good cheer. Sirius shivered as he shucked off his smart clothes, reaching for the sweater and the soft, old pair of flannel pyjama bottoms that were hanging over the footboard of the bed. The Potters had bought them for him the first Christmas he’d spent at theirs; it was the first time any parent figure had given him a gift that seemed to simply be… _thoughtful_. Christmas and birthdays at Grimmauld always involved family heirlooms, or ostentatious ties and pocket squares, or books about family history. Alphard — _God rest his soul_ — had always bought a bottle of something, or thrust an envelope of cash at him. The Potters thinking he might _need_ pyjamas, or wanting to give him something that was just plain old _nice_ had nearly reduced him yet again to tears. 

Cosied up in bed, Sirius picked up his phone, and dialled the number off by heart. 

“Hey, Rem.” 

“Hey.” Remus’ voice sounded a little muffled, rounded out and thick from the waiting promise of sleep. Sirius felt a little jump of pleasure in his stomach at the sound - a gentle bubble of happiness. “How was the party?” 

“Good. Hung out with the twins. How’s being home?” 

“Lyall’s been banging on about government cuts again, it’s been _festive_ ,” Remus intoned, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin — he knew the sarcastic roll of the eyes that Remus would be doing when he used that tone of voice. 

“I bet. How’s your mum doing?” 

“Eh,” sighed Remus, “she’s alright.”

“I miss you.” The words came tumbling out of Sirius’ mouth before he could stop them. There was a pause, and Remus sighed.

“I miss you, too. Of course I miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I miss you so much, it’s like I’ve got stomachache.”

“Nice of you to compare me to stomachache,” Sirius scoffed.

“Well, you’re about as annoying.”

Sirius laughed, throaty and rich, knowing there was no heat behind Remus’ words, no real jab. He could picture the scene vividly: Remus, lying on his back in his bedroom, the covers tucked around him and the curtains ever-so-slightly parted so he could see the stars and the moon.His hair would be rumpled, the sandy blond curls pushed out of place from where he’d pulled on that horribly ratty t shirt he loved to sleep in. There’d be a soft, satisfied smirk on his face at the swiftness of his quip, a gentle delight humming about him. 

Remus yawned, and the sound of it drew Sirius back to the present. 

“You’re tired, I’m going to let you get to bed.”

“What, no phone sex?” Remus teased. Sirius thought about it for a second. 

“You’re too tired,” he said gently, and rolled onto his side. “But, seeing as I’m not one to leave you hanging, I am going to tell you what I’m about to do when we get off the phone.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sirius heard Remus sigh, the pillow rustling a little over the phone. “I’m going to lie here and think about your perfect fucking cock, and how I wish it was here. How I wish _you_ were here. I’m gonna touch myself and think about what it’s like to have your hands touching me, squeezing my balls while you’re buried up to the hilt inside me, fucking me senseless. When I come, I’m going to think about how you let me come in your mouth, and how good that feels.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” muttered Remus. “How long do you think it’d take me to cycle over to you?” 

“Only all of tomorrow and then some,” Sirius laughed. “But you can think about that while you go to sleep.” 

“Fine,” Remus huffed. “I’ll text you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Ok. Goodnight, lil mouse,” said Sirius, falling back on that nickname he’d given to Remus way back in first year of university, when he was _Serious_ and Remus was _Remouse_. 

“Goodnight, love. I love you,” murmured Remus.

“I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Christmas had, as ever, been a delight. Phe had outdone herself, the table groaning under mountains of food — a delicious, glistening goose, mounds of mashed potatoes, lashings of gravy and cranberry sauce. It was only ever the four of them for Christmas, with Monty whipping out his best wines, and Sirius and James having their annual bake-off on Boxing Day. Then, there was that strange time in the week between Christmas and New Year; filled with leftovers and bad made-for-television films, and walking Snuffles with Dedalus and Icarus, the Potters’ two elderly dogs, from the house to the welcome lights of the pub.

New Year’s Eve was upon them soon enough. The house had once again been trussed up with decorations — Sirius and James had spent far too long debating the placement of some really hideous garlands they’d ordered off the internet. Monty and Phe had left the day before for their holiday cottage on the coast, but not before they’d warned their sons not to trash the place, not to drink too much, and definitely not to do anything unnecessarily illegal. 

“Be good, boys!” Phe had called through the window of the car as they set off, a wry smile on her face. 

“Yes, Mum,” James and Sirius had chorused. They’d shared a grin; they had no intention of being good, and Phe Potter knew it. 

Now, the party was in full swing. The rooms at the front of the house — the drawing room, the library, the dining room, the hall — were a mass of bodies, music loud and drinking games in play. At one point earlier, Dorcas had disappeared, perhaps just after midnight, or just after one, and Remus had pulled Sirius close to whisper in his ear. 

“Just in case you were still worried,” murmured Remus, “Dawlish has just gone up to the girls’ room with Dorcas, and let me tell you — they weren’t going to talk about the weather.” 

“I know, I know,” Sirius said, a hint of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. 

“All yours, you know that,” Remus said, planting kisses on Sirius’ neck.

Now, Sirius once again found himself in the kitchen, surrounded by half-full bottles of wine and champagne, cases of beer with the plastic torn roughly from where cans had been pulled from them. The steady _thump thump thump_ of the music from the hall was just enough to keep the party atmosphere in full swing, as people tumbled into the room in search of drinks and stumbled back out again to find someone on the dance floor, bodies hot and heavy and swaying.

They always ended up congregating in kitchens at parties, the group of them. It had been a theme since their university days. It was never planned, but rather some instinctive pull that drew them together, slipping away from the hubbub and the noise to come together and orbit around some unspoken rule that _this is where they were meant to be_.

Sirius surveyed the room. Mary and Reg had made the long journey down from Scotland for the party, whispering some secret to one another all day until at supper when they had finally revealed that Reg had asked Mary to marry him on Boxing Day. They had opened a bottle of champagne in celebration, and had toasted to the future Mr and Mrs Cattermole and their long life together — obviously Lily _and_ James had cried. Now, Mary had her hand extended to Amelia as the latter gushed over a very new and glittering engagement ring. Every so often, Gideon would glance over from his conversation with Reg, a soft smile playing at his lips as he watched Amelia, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin at it. 

Near the two couples, Marlene was explaining something in great detail and to great amusement of Fabian and Remus. When Marlene had arrived, Sirius had noted Hestia wasn’t in the car alongside her and Lily, and he hadn’t asked why. There’d been a sadness about Marlene when they had touched glasses to Reg and Mary’s good health; the smile on her face hadn’t been quite her own. Sirius watched with affection how her eyes lit up with genuine delight as she told her story, animated and alive with whatever was enticing her audience in.

Then, on one side of the kitchen, leaning against the countertop and looking intently at his phone was Peter. Something about him was… _off_. It had been off since Sirius’ birthday back in November, and Sirius still wasn’t sure what it was. At that thought, Peter looked up and Sirius studiously avoided his gaze, draining the last of his cup. Then, Peter glanced at his phone again, giving Sirius another moment to study him. The suede loafers on his feet were a little too perfect — almost new out the box, Sirius would have thought. The perfectly cut trousers and the impeccable shirt were just that little bit too tasteful for Peter’s norm. He had never been one for fashion; a pair of jeans and a clean shirt was his usual go-to. Sirius was curious - he knew good clothes and good shoes, and knew the things that Peter was wearing were far beyond his budget, even with his well-paid engineering job. It was a subtle change, for certain, and one that wouldn’t be noticed by the vast majority of people in attendance. But that’s what Sirius did, didn’t he? He noticed the body, the physical form. He revelled in translating the curve of a hip or the angle of a jaw or the chip in a front tooth. He saw artistry in the crookedness of humanity, what Remus would call _vital imperfections_. 

And Peter was walking in the uncanny valley. He was holding himself differently, like the new clothes had given him some almost-imperceptible boost in confidence. And yet, it wasn’t that, Sirius mused. Peter wasn’t really confident; no, he’d slipped on a mask, hoping no one would notice. Only, Sirius noticed. Sirius _knew_ masks, didn’t he? He’d watched Orion slip in and out of his enough times to tell when someone wasn’t just hiding something, but plastering it behind a perfect fresco. 

Sirius moved across the room, sidling casually over to Peter. To his left, he overheard Lily and James discussing some terrible book they’d been reading over the Christmas week - _“the bit where he said he threw his hands into her hair! How can you throw your hands?”_ \- and Sirius suppressed a grin as he picked up a couple of bottles of beer. _Nerds_ , he thought.

Reaching the other side of the room, Sirius nudged Peter’s shoulder and offered one of the beers, bringing him back to the present minute and away from his phone. Peter’s face cracked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks!” he said jovially, taking the proffered beer. 

“How was your Christmas, mate? Haven’t had a chance to catch up yet!” Sirius grinned, and leant against the counter beside him. 

“Not bad,” replied Peter, and took a sip. “How about you?”

“Excellent as ever. Family doing well?” 

“Not bad,” Peter repeated, and Sirius bit back the urge to shake him into saying something a little more interesting. “Mum’s got a new job. Dad’s retiring in the summer, I think.” 

“And work? Who’re you hanging out with in Bristol, Pete?” Sirius asked, now bringing his bottle to his lips. “You could have invited your new friends — Lily and Remus did.” 

“No one really,” Peter shrugged, and Sirius frowned.

“So all those photos on your Instagram are just you going to clubs by yourself for the aesthetic, yeah?”

Peter sighed.

“Just a couple of people from work we were at uni with, you don’t know them.” 

“Really?”

Peter sighed again. 

“Padgett Parkinson, he was in my engineering course—"

“You’re hanging out with _Padgett_?” Sirius gaped. “I was at school with him—“

“Of course you were,” Peter muttered.

“He’s a bit of a bore, Pete, you know. I actually know a couple guys in Bristol, maybe—“

“Maybe I’m just growing up, alright?” Peter looked simultaneously irritated and ashamed. “Maybe I’ve moved past stealing lobsters, and getting dogs spontaneously, and messing about. It’s pathetic, Sirius! You had _so much_ just waiting for you with the family you’ve got, and you’re just pissing it into the wind.” 

There was a moment of pause. Then—

“Maybe your life sounds incredibly fucking boring and I’m sorry you feel the need to lash out?” Sirius spat back. 

Peter turned a shade of puce that bordered on magenta. Webs of colour crawled up his neck, like great pink spiders against his fair skin. He looked on the verge of saying something, of retaliating and pushing back against Sirius’ ammunition, perhaps even giving over to fists and fury and punching the living daylights out of Sirius. Then, like a balloon deflating, he simply turned, and walked away.

Sirius blinked in confusion, watching Peter’s back as he headed toward the door. It was unusual for Peter to put up a fight over anything, let alone walk away from an argument as though he actually _thought_ something, something more than just opinions skimmed off the top of James’ or Remus’. Even so, as one of his oldest friends stalked away, it was not concern or even anger that coursed through Sirius, seeking release. Instead, a phrase floated to the forefront of Sirius’ mind, one he’d only remembered recently: _it is not the last drop that empties the water-clock, but all that which previously has flowed out_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker  
> Song 15: Sedona, by Houndmouth


	16. Sedated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marauders have returned to London, and Sirius has a nasty surprise at the gallery...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another visit from our favourite parent ;)

One Friday afternoon, just after lunch, Sirius sat at his desk and watched the rain pelt the window, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He shut his eyes in frustration, then slammed his hand down on the top of his desk and growled.

“Yes, yes, _I am_ ,” he muttered down the phone. Once again, the recorded woman’s voice at the other end was telling him in irritating clipped consonants that _sorry, we were unable to process your request_ and to _please select a valid option_. Giving up, Sirius slammed the phone back down into the cradle on his desk. 

Returning to London after the joys of Christmas had been a drag. The city felt lifeless in the drab January rain, and the sky was laden and grey above Fitzrovia, the gold lettering on the front of Madame Zabini’s gallery dull in the dismal light. Black cabs glistened in the dampness, floating slowly through the fog that gathered at London’s ankles like ships at sea.

Just then, a knock at the door broke Sirius’ irritated fugue, and he looked up to see Lockhart poking his head around the door. His face was unnaturally tanned for January in London — he claimed he’d gone away over the Christmas break, but Sirius wasn’t convinced; the hue of Lockhart’s skin was more luminescent than natural, making his too-white teeth look radioactive when he smiled.

“Hi, Gilderoy, what’s up?” asked Sirius, barely lifting his eyes from his computer screen as he drummed his fingers irately against the tabletop.

“Something the matter, Mr Black?”

“The sodding automatic machine at the auction house. Also, _please_ stop calling me Mr Black, Gilderoy,” Sirius shot waspishly toward the doorway where the young man was standing, barely looking up.

“Sorry,” Lockhart intoned. “Madame Zabini asked me to let you know that she’d like a word.”

“Now?”

“‘Fraid so, Mr—Sirius,” Lockhart hastily corrected.

“Right, tell her I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” sighed Sirius.

Lockhart nodded and slipped back out of the room, and Sirius cursed under his breath, He could have done without a meeting with his ever-enigmatic boss, who would no doubt have some large and morally-questionable project for him. The week previous, it had been a trip to a crumbling Georgian pile in Pimlico for tea and stale Maderia cake with a Miss Sybill Trelawney, as Madame Zabini had tasked Sirius with trying to convince Miss Trelawney to part with her extraordinary collection of Bertolt Brecht original theatre posters. It had felt like a fool’s errand: looking around the crowded drawing room that the woman had ushered him into, with its overstuffed armchairs and footstools, and hundreds of trinkets and tat, Sirius came to the conclusion that Miss Trelawney had never been convinced to part with anything.

Sirius had left the house feeling grimy. Part of it had been the fairly thick layer of dust that had coated the surfaces in the Trelawney drawing room, but most of it had been the unshakeable feeling that they weren’t just seeking out pieces to buy anymore, they were manipulating people into selling. As Sirius’ feet traced the path from his office to Madame Zabini’s, he thought about when he had brought up his concerns to her. She had laughed outright; a deep, rich laugh accompanied by glittering, mirthful eyes and a Cheshire Cat smile. What was it she had said? _Think of it less as manipulation, Sirius, and more as resourcefulness._

Arriving at her office Sirius knocked twice, before swinging open the door. The horrid weather only served to make Madame Zabini’s room seem cosier; a fire had been lit in the dark grate, adding to the strangeness of the light in the room from the open drapes that let in the strange grey hue.

“Sirius! _Viens ici.”_ Madame Zabini continued to look at her computer screen, but gestured Sirius over with a hand bedecked with silver rings. He took a seat in the comfortable armchair opposite her desk, and crossed one leg over the other.  Sirius waited while Madame Zabini finished writing something down in her big, crocodile skin agenda that forever sat open on her desk. Lockhart had joked when Sirius started the job that the agenda was the Holy Grail — _“full of absolutely every name in the business, and dirt on all of them. I think it’s a blessing to be in there — and a curse.”_

Madame Zabini looked up, and smiled at Sirius.

“How are you getting on?”

“I’ve been on the phone to the auction house for the best part of an hour, their stupid _please select the appropriate option_ machine clearly overindulged at Christmas and is having a January meltdown.”

Madame Zabini tutted, and reached for a piece of paper and her fountain pen.

“You should have said. I will give you Albert Runcorn’s personal line, you will be able to speak to his assistant.”

She had a habit of doing this, Sirius thought. Ariadne Zabini didn’t _give_ . She’d never have just given up that number when asking Sirius to phone the auction house, in order to make his life easier. No, she needed to _hear_ him ask for it, the same way she needed Lockhart to simper and fawn, or she needed her clients to tell her that _no one does it better._ Madame Zabini’s cunning was in collecting people around her who needed her more than she needed them, but who also offered her something in return. Her ambition was _fuelled_ by it. What was it she’d called Sirius’ employment when they talked about his family, all those months ago on his first day at the gallery? _Mutually beneficial._

No, she didn’t give without taking, too. Sirius liked her, of course he did - how could he not? She was witty and amusing, full of interesting anecdotes and fascinating secrets about the art world. Sirius could see how she managed to surround herself with people who hung on her every word; if it were not for the fact that Sirius had grown up with so many people like Madame Zabini, he probably would be hanging on her every word too. 

“Anyway,” Madame Zabini wafted her hand in a _no matter_ motion, “that is not what we are here to discuss. We talked at the end of the summer about the idea of you curating an exhibit, did we not? Something small. I think it is time for us to start arranging for this.”

“You’re joking!”

Madame Zabini raised an eyebrow cooly.

“You're not joking,” Sirius hurriedly added. “I’d love to.”

“Shall we put it in the events calendar for May? Next week, you can show me some concepts, and we can talk budget, _oui_?”

“Great,” Sirius breathed, unable to contain the grin that split open on his face. He felt like he was floating, full of excitement and thrill. Remus had gone home for the weekend, and Sirius had already been missing him; his stomach jumped at the thought of firing off a text to him as soon as he was back in his office, to tell Remus the good news. He could only imagine the bright, wide smile Remus would have on his face when he came home on Sunday evening, the way he’d wrap his hands round Sirius’ waist and press kisses into his collarbone and the hollow of his throat, while murmuring how _proud_ he was of Sirius.

“I will prepare the guest list,” continued Madame Zabini. “There are some people I would like to introduce you to, and I think this will be the _perfect_ time.”

“Amazing,” Sirius smiled, pushing the slight concern about who those _people_ might be to the back of his mind. People who were _useful_ , no doubt. 

“Now, I must go. I have a meeting with Damocles Belby at the National Gallery,” said Madame Zabini, with an air of finality. She stood and walked to the coat stand in the corner, pulling on a thick wool coat and artfully draping a scarf around her neck. “I will not be back in the gallery until Monday, _d’accord_?”

“Of course,” replied Sirius, smiling and wandering toward the door. “Have a lovely weekend.”

“Oh, and Sirius?” She paused, picking up her handbag, and Sirius turned from the doorway to look at her. There was a wry smile on her face. “Please make sure Gilderoy doesn’t set something on fire or delete the entire stock list while I’m gone, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sirius saluted with a grin, to Madame Zabini’s chuckle, and sauntered from the room.

An hour later, Sirius heard another knock at his office door. The number Madame Zabini had given him was a godsend; no more automated voice on the other end of the phone telling him that his request _could not be processed_. Instead, it had been a mild-mannered secretary who had solved the problem in less than three minutes.

“Come in!” Sirius called, and fought the urge to roll his eyes when the door swung open, and once again, Lockhart stood in the doorway. He was about to make a sarcastic comment, when he noticed the harassed look on Lockhart’s face. His peaches-and-cream complexion — usually ruddy and boyish — was pale. He chewed on his bottom lip, and his eyes darted toward Sirius, and then the other side of the room, and then back again.

“What is it, Gilderoy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—“

Whatever Lockhart said, Sirius didn’t hear it. His ears buzzed, drowning out the noise. His mouth went dry. His skin seemed to come alive, crawling and itching restlessly under his shirt collar, his belt, his waistband. He could practically smell the fear emanating from Lockhart, but he paid it no mind, because it was mingling with his own, souring the air between them. Lockhart’s words couldn’t have seemed less important as Sirius locked eyes with _him_.

 _Him_. Not Lockhart. No, Gilderoy Lockhart could have been invisible for all Sirius cared, because behind him, in the corridor, was what might as well have been a ghost. _He_ might as well have been a ghost.

 _He_.

 _His father_.

 _Orion_.

He looked nowhere near as robust as he had in November, that was for certain, and Sirius was startled by the change. In fact, that was an understatement. Orion looked _awful_ . Face pallid, skin a horrid mottled grey, a sheen about it that was almost-certainly some clammy, cold sweat. His eyes were sunken back into his face, bloodshot and haunting all at once. It was as though that wretched death mask, that waxen front, that _veneer ,_  had finally begun to slip, and Orion’s skin might simply dissolve from his body and reveal the monster underneath.

“Sirius,” he breathed, baring his teeth in a poor attempt at a smile.

“Dad,” garbled Sirius in return, swallowing the word down halfway through saying it.

“So good to see you,” Orion purred. “Perhaps you’ll walk with me?” He gestured toward the hall and Sirius knew it was less a request than a command. He nodded awkwardly, and reached for the jacket that was slung over the back of his chair. As he did so, Sirius saw Lockhart bolt away. 

Orion moved slowly down the staircase. His back — usually ramrod straight — seemed slumped and sagging. Sirius kept his eyes trained on him as they moved toward the front of the gallery. What the everliving _fuck_ was he doing back there, Sirius wondered. It was hardly like it had gone swimmingly the last time his father had paid a visit to Zabini’s. The memory came flooding back: the car ride, and the Slytherin Club, and the footman in that stupid uniform, and the feeling of Orion’s arm against his neck, pressing, pressing, _pressing_ …

The cold air was a welcome relief as the two of them stepped out the door at the front of the gallery.  They loitered awkwardly, eyeing one another up like gladiators, poised and ready for a fight knowing that only one might come out of this alive. Sirius didn’t want to look at the myriad of blood vessels that dotted his father’s face, the too-shiny lips from where Orion has his tongue over them again and again, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Perhaps we could—“ Orion began to speak, but Sirius cut him off harshly.

“I’m not going with you to your fucking club.”

“I wasn’t inviting you,” Orion replied mildly.

Sirius growled, kicking a toe out and scuffing it against the kerb.

“What do you want, then?”

Orion sighed, clearly chewing over his words before he said them. From a distance, the pair would have been easily recognisable as father and son: Orion shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey tweed trousers just like Sirius did, held his head with that same stillness of a dog catching a scent. It was some cosmic lack of subtlety that two people who so hated each other might look and _be_ so similar.

“It’s your cousin’s wedding this weekend,” Orion said finally. 

Sirius’ head snapped up.

“Narcissa?” he frowned. “That was quick. She pregnant or something?”

This time, it was Orion who growled.

“ _No_ ,” he hissed back, “not Narcissa. Bellatrix.”

“Oh, she’s finally tying the knot with Rodolphus, is she? Or has she settled on Riddle?”

Orion made a funny jerking gesture at Sirius’ comment, like he’d wanted to lunge forward and shake him, but the thought had gone from him as quickly as it arrived.

“She gets married tomorrow. Eleven o’clock at St Gummarus’. Reception at the club to follow.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Sirius muttered, looking away. Beside him, he heard his father sigh, and glanced back.

“Do you have to be so, so…”

“So _what_ , Dad?”

Orion gestured at his son, crumpling up his face.

“So like _this_.”

Sirius barked out a laugh; a cold, haunting laugh.

“So _me_ , I think you mean. And yes, I do.”

Their eyes met, grey catching obsidian. Something passed across Orion’s dark eyes, brief and indecipherable, disappearing almost as soon as it had arrived. 

“I wish you were willing to come home, Sirius,” Orion said softly.

“Do you?”

“Of cour—“

“No,” Sirius said vehemently, shaking his head, “think about what you’re asking for. You don’t want _me_ to come home. You don’t want me, with my boyfriend and my arsey art degree and my liberal, new money friends. You don’t want me, with my sense of fucking morality, my consideration for other people. You want some facsimile of a son who you can push into the same fetid mould you came from.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or do not want, Sirius. You know nothing.” Orion had stilled, frozen.

“No?” Sirius’ brows shot upward. “I think I know more than you give me credit for. I’m all the things you were never capable of being, aren’t I? _That’s_ why you hate me; not because I’m different, but because you wish you were.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” growled Orion, taking a step forward. His dark eyes glinted menacingly, and he curled his hands into fists, the pink mottled skin turning white with the pressure.

“Go on,” Sirius goaded, “hit me. See if you’re as big a man in public as you are behind closed doors.”

It was like the floodgates were opened. Orion lunged for Sirius, and Sirius could see the way crimson tributaries and rivers bled across the whites of his eyes. In among the fear and the anger, Sirius felt a brief frisson of excitement. He could do physical, he could throw punches and swing his fists; he could give over to the base, animal instinct in him that said _fight_ , instead of standing on the pavement in that eternal deluge of _feeling._

Fate had different ideas, it seemed — or perhaps it was circumstance, or coincidence, or some other puppet master. Orion stumbled, the side of his suede loafer colliding with the lip of the kerb. The air around the two of them seemed to go very still all of a sudden, and Sirius watched with horror as his father’s swollen, puce hands stretched out to flail before him in slow motion. Fear crossed in shadow across Orion’s face as he swayed like a marionette, and Sirius wanted to shoot out a hand to catch him, to stop him before he fell to the ground. But, it was too late. Like a puppet’s strings being cut, Orion crumbled.

 _Smack._  

The sound of flesh hitting hard, cold paving slabs was sickening. The noise seemed to break the spell of silence and slow motion, as a black cab raced past and the roar of its engine made Sirius jump. He had been frozen on the spot, not sure if he should scream or laugh or run. He hadn’t touched Orion; the panting man with his face to the pavement was there because of his sheer bad luck, but Sirius looked around wildly in case someone had seen the fall, in case someone thought _he_ had pushed him. 

His father grunted. Sirius’ eyes locked back on Orion’s huffing form, scanning for the damage. Then—

His father lifted his head, and Sirius stared down at him, wide-eyed. A trickle of blood graced Orion’s jaw. He looked up through thick eyelashes, his dark eyes meeting his son’s with abject fury. Some tendon seemed to hold them in tension in that moment, the elastic that stretched them apart and pulled them back together over and over again taut and straining.

Orion shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The spell broken, their puppet strings loose again, Sirius rushed forwards, sliding a hand around his father’s bicep and trying to pull him upright. 

“ _Get. Off. Me._ ” Orion grunted, shoving Sirius’ hand away. 

“I’m just trying to--”

“I said, _get off_ ,” snarled Orion, chest heaving. His salt-and-pepper hair was no longer neatly secured by pomade above his high forehead, instead hanging down into his eyes in lank strands, and revealing great patches of bald, shiny flesh atop his head. From his vantage point above, Sirius could see how veins ran in purple ribbons down to the base of Orion’s skull, pulsing and bulging below the surface of his skin. 

Sirius stepped back as his father pushed himself to his feet. Orion grunted as he did so, and a flicker of a frown crossed Sirius’ face - Orion wasn’t _that_ old. He was moving with the grace of a man at least two decades older than him, wheezing and heavy in his movements. Now he was upright, he somehow looked worse; no longer the vulnerable man on the ground, but a wounded animal hunting for escape. Orion’s eyes were dark and dangerous, stains of dark grime from the London pavement branded the pale pink shirt on his chest. 

“You tripped,” said Sirius instinctively, eyes wide and childlike as though to say, _it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it._

“I did,” Orion panted. He lifted a shaking hand to his face, passing the palm across his chin and wincing as it came into contact with the cut. The dark rivulet of blood smeared across his skin like a brushstroke of watercolour. 

“Do you-- I mean, would you like me to get something for that?” blurted Sirius, gesturing toward the gallery. 

“No,” his father replied. He pointed to the town car on the other side of the road, and the uniformed chauffeur who had sprung from the driver’s seat as Orion fell and now lingered awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ll be staying, do you?”

“Are-- are you sure?” Sirius frowned. “Maybe you should sit down, I can make you a cup of tea or something.”

“What, and play pretend that you’re the doting son, Sirius?” Orion sneered. His teeth were nicotine-stained, their yellowness reminding Sirius of an animal cornered and baring its fangs. 

“I’m not _playing pretend_ ,” Sirius growled back, rolling his eyes. “I’m just not being a dick when you’ve fallen over.”

“I am _fine_ .” Orion’s face had flushed red. Without another word, he spun, and began to walk away. Anger bubbled up in Sirius at that, because _how dare he_ , how dare he turn up once again, reigniting that violent, aching fire between the two of them that had just begun to die out? How dare he act as though Sirius’ sense of common decency might be a front, rather than something both miraculous and mundane, utterly normal and yet entirely surprising considering his parents?

“Why do you do this?” Sirius asked to his father’s retreating back. It made the other man pause, and twist his neck to look over his shoulder. “Why do you turn up here when you know how it’s going to end every time?”

Orion pivoted, and walked the couple of steps back towards his son. The smear of blood up his chin was dry and crusting, his hair now pushed back from his face and roughly pressed into place, mussed and unkempt.

“You know why I come back.”

“Do I?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because all I can think of is that quote about insanity, that it’s doing something over and over and over again and expecting a different outcome. Do you expect a different outcome? I’ve never asked, but I can’t think of any other reason why you might turn up at my uni house, or here at the gallery, when you’ve got no other good reason.”

“Of course I have a reason,” scoffed Orion. 

“What, you’re going to say something like _you’re my son and I love you_ , are you?” 

“I wish I could love you,” Orion said quietly, no heat or fire or real feeling behind the words. Sirius felt the breath flood his lungs in an involuntary gasp. He could recall a thousand-and-one things that Orion had said to him over the years that should have hurt more, that were delivered with more force and power. Yet, in that moment on a dismal London street, the sting of those words seemed more agonising than anything else. It was a final confirmation, after all those years, of what Sirius had really always known: more than _choosing_ not to love him, his father simply wasn’t capable of it. If it were a choice, Sirius might have stayed; he might have fought for something, he might have given grace where it wasn’t deserved, he might have been able to match one choice with another and _forgive_. 

“So do I,” Sirius replied. He swallowed, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. He felt behind them the telltale sting of tears, and willed them away, that his father might not see him cry. 

“Well then,” Orion said very quietly before he walked away, “it seems, for once, we agree on something.”

* * *

“Hey!”

Sirius walked into the room, hair wet from the shower, one towel in hand and another wrapped around his waist. His face lit up as he saw Remus sitting on the edge of the bed. Sunday evening had come around, and Remus was finally home after a hellish journey back to London from the Lake District. He strode over to where Remus sat, and planted a kiss on his lips. Remus grinned up at him as he pulled away.

“It sure is good to come back to that,” Remus teased. Sirius smirked, and sat down beside him. 

“How were your parents?” he asked. 

“Poor, drunk and angry at the government,” Remus sighed. “How was your weekend?”

Sirius shrugged, as he rubbed his hair with the towel in his hands.

“Fine, Jem and I didn’t really get up to much. Watched the entire Twilight saga last night with Evans and played Monopoly.”

“Who won?”

“Evans, _obviously_ ,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Considering Jem sold his soul and works in finance, you’d think he’d be better at a game that is _literally playing at capitalism_.”

Remus chuckled.

“Ever thought he lets Lily win?”

“Why would he do that?” Sirius frowned.

“I don’t know, maybe because he loves her? You’re telling me you wouldn’t do that for me?” Remus pouted exaggeratedly, although there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Victory or death, my dude,” Sirius grinned. “Don’t tell me you expected anything else from the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?”

Sirius hadn’t really thought about that comment before he’d said it. That little phrase was one he despised, and took great delight in mocking and teasing it out. But tonight, his face gave an involuntary twitch as he said it. The movement didn’t escape Remus’ notice. 

“What is it?” he asked, cocking his head to one side and looking intently at the face he knew so well: those grey eyes, that porcelain skin, those high cheekbones.

“What’s what?” frowned Sirius.

Remus shook his head, scanning Sirius’ face.

“There’s something… _off_.” He raised a hand and gestured vaguely in the air.

Sirius sighed.

“My dad came to the gallery on Friday — and before you ask, _I’m fine, Remus, he didn’t touch me_ — and told me my cousin’s getting married this weekend. Well, got married, I suppose; the wedding was yesterday.”

“Narcissa, who got engaged last year?”

“No, Bellatrix — although, I also asked that question.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. They stayed there, Sirius in his towel and Remus cross-legged next to him on the bed. The air was punctuated only by the in-out-in-out of Snuffles’ gentle, low breaths as he slumbered in his favourite place by the radiator. To an outsider, it would have been the picture of calm, but that couldn’t be further from the truth; the two of them were skirting a minefield, waiting for the moment when a bomb went off. 

“So…” Remus said finally, raising his eyebrows and waiting for Sirius to say something, to explain. 

“I think it might be the end.”

“The end?”

“I don’t think he’s coming back. He was a mess today; he tripped outside the gallery and busted up his chin. But even before then… I think he might be ill, you know.”

“Ill?” frowned Remus. “Wouldn’t your brother have said something if he was ill?”

“Regulus?” Sirius scoffed. “Not likely! He’s not under my dad’s thumb in the way he’s under my mother’s; her emotional manipulation has always worked better on Regulus than my father’s fist. Still, I don’t think he’d want to get on the wrong side of him.” 

Remus watched Sirius. He was lost again in the memories and the worries and the sheer weight of it all. The tumult of his thoughts was heavy in his features: a deep crease between his furrowed brows, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

“I love you,” Remus said softly. Sirius turned at the sound of his voice, the folds and lines of his worried face smoothing out at the affection he saw reflected in Remus.  

“I love you too. How about you?” asked Sirius. “I’m sorry, I just monopolised and made it about me. How were your parents, _really_?”

This time it was Remus’ turn to sigh.

“Mum’s not getting any better. She’s not getting any worse, mind you, but she’s so tired still. She can barely get out of bed, and when she does, it’s just downstairs to sit in her armchair. Her arms are so tiny now, Pads.” Remus held up a hand and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate. 

“Shit,” Sirius muttered, reaching out and covering Remus’ outstretched hand with his own. “I’m sorry, Rem. I know that’s got to be so difficult.”

“Us with our fucked-up parents, hey?” Remus raised his eyebrows, and Sirius chuckled sadly.

“Do you ever think about what it might be like to have a normal family?” he asked. “Like… Jem’s family, or Marlene’s, or Dorko’s?” 

“No,” Remus shook his head, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. He reached out a hand and laid it gently upon Sirius’ knee. “Normal’s passed me by. I’ve got all the family I need in this building - James and Lily, Marlene and Dorcas. But most importantly, I’ve got all the family I need right here - you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker  
> Song 15: Sedona, by Houndmouth  
> Song 16: Sedated, by Hozier


	17. 3AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bffs of the group have some late night heart-to-hearts... but is everything still well for James and Lily's relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, but *light* angst.

“Can’t sleep?”  
  
“ _Jesus Christ, Marlene!_ ”  
  
Lily clutched at the kitchen counter with one hand, her chest with the other. Her heart raced. It was three o'clock in the morning, only an under-cupboard light on in the kitchen, and she'd thought the rest of the flat asleep. Lily had padded out of her bedroom in search of a cup of tea; it felt like hours and hours since she’d gone to bed, tossing and turning until the sheets were wrapped around her like a vice grip. She'd been too hot, then too cold, then too hot, until finally, fuming, she had thrown back the duvet and got out of bed.   
  
Marlene stood in the doorway and laughed. She held up a hand to her chest, patting gently over the insignia from the old university sweatshirt she was wearing.   
  
" _Mea culpa, mea culpa_ ," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
"It's fine," Lily chuckled. "I'm clearly on edge cus I haven't slept. You can't sleep too?"  
  
"Nah, I woke up about half an hour ago and couldn't fall asleep again. Did you hear Dorcas get back from poker night?" Marlene asked, settling down at the kitchen table.   
  
"Yeah, think she got back around midnight. You want tea?" Lily lifted the kettle and gestured with it.   
  
"Please."   
  
"You should go join them for poker night, you know." Lily nodded toward the ceiling and the boys' flat as she busied herself with setting out mugs and fetching milk from the fridge.   
  
"I work in finance, Lils, why on earth would I want to gamble in my free time, too?" grinned Marlene.   
  
"Oh ha ha," Lily retorted with a roll of her eyes. "That doesn't stop James."  
  
"James is good at poker, though; I'm not. Speaking of, how is old Jimbo? I feel like I've not seen him in the flat in an age."  
  
"That makes two of us," Lily smiled wryly. "Work's been an absolute bitch recently for the both of us. We live even closer than we did at university and we see less of each other!"  
  
"Maybe if the two of you lovebirds moved in together, you'd solve that issue," teased Marlene.   
  
Lily huffed out a laugh, but it was unconvincing. Marlene frowned as she watched her best friend pour the water from the kettle into the mugs. Even in things as simple as making tea, Lily was an incredibly precise person; she gave her attention to tasks like these just like she would have done if she were back at university and standing at a bench in the chemistry lab. Water poured onto the teabag, up to three-quarters of the cup; milk added just-so, a dash for Marlene and a healthy dose for her; hot liquid stirred once, then twice, then a third time; teabags transferred to the faded little dish by the sink with the blue flowers all over it.  
  
"Thank you," Marlene said, as Lily deposited a mug before her and took a seat in the opposite chair. "Now you've given me that tea, you can give me the tea as to why you sound so thoroughly disinterested in moving in with James. You know he's gonna want to, right?"  
  
"I'm not _disinterested_ ," scoffed Lily. "And anyway, I think it's _uninterested_ , because _disinterested_ means-"  
  
"So help me God, that's not the point. Stop avoiding the question."  
  
Lily took a sip of her drink, and looked down at the mug in thought.   
  
"I think I'm worried that us moving in together will be too much, you know? Like, in my head I don't know if I'm going to be ready for that for a while yet."  
  
"Sure," nodded Marlene, "but you want to _eventually_ , right?"  
  
"Of course." Lily looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think I'm just careful about everything because... because of Sev."   
  
Marlene grimaced.  
  
"I thought we'd agreed we weren't going to call your awful ex-boyfriend _Sev_ anymore. It makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable." She gave an exaggerated shiver. "And anyway, what's brought that up? James is nothing like Snape."  
  
"Oh God, I know," Lily replied hurriedly. "I think it's more that James doesn't have that... baggage of having dated someone who wants to control him. Not, I think, that anyone would be capable of controlling James Fleamont Potter, of course."  
  
Marlene laughed. She had an infectious laugh - light and vibrant, the sort of laugh that made you instinctively grin in return. It was telling when Lily didn't smile back.   
  
"True, Lils, true."  
  
"Anyway, I guess it's that I'm always going to have that niggling worry in the back of my mind that if I don't make sure I've got some independence, if I don't have my ducks in a line, then there's always the potential for me to hand over all the control to someone again and let them dictate my life. James and I not living together feels like a bit of protection."  
  
"Huh." Marlene looked deep in thought, and there was silence between the two of them for a second - not uncomfortable silence, but not exactly comfortable either. "You've not seen him, have you? Snape?"  
  
Lily shook her head.   
  
"Not since James and I ran into him in the park before Christmas. I think it's the longest time without contact with him since I was like, sixteen? Do you remember at uni, he'd surface every three weeks or so."  
  
"He wouldn't fucking leave you alone, you could set a watch by him," Marlene muttered. She pulled a hairband from her wrist and began to tie up her long blonde waves. Lily watched her pensively.   
  
"I wonder if it'd be better if I did see him. Se-Snape, I mean."  
  
Marlene frowned.  
  
"Why? What on earth could you have to say to each other after all this time?"  
  
"I don't-" Lily stopped with a sigh. "I don't think it's that we have things to say to one another, necessarily."  
  
"I don't follow." Marlene lifted her mug and blew on the tea, causing ripples to fan out across the top of the steaming cup. "Why would you go out of your way to see him if there's nothing you need to say?"  
  
"Closure, I guess?"   
  
Marlene pursued her lips. She put her tea back on the table, untouched.   
  
"I'm about to say this because you're my best friend and I love you. You know that, right?"  
  
Lily laughed.  
  
"Yeah," she said, "you're my best friend and I love you too. Now, shoot."   
  
Marlene leant forward onto the table, resting her elbows against the pale pink tablecloth that Lily insisted they used. The interior decor of the flat had all been Lily's domain, really; the tablecloths, and the flowers she bought for the kitchen table, the pretty matching crockery, the rugs and the smart linen cushions for the sofa. It's what puzzled Marlene about it all; building a home, a space, an environment that reflected family and community - it was Lily's natural inclination to do it, something Marlene just didn't have. Lily was a glue that bound them together, wove them into the things that surrounded them. It was more than just the framed photos and memories of them all that dotted the flat; it was things like a kettle that whistled when it boiled because Marlene always forgot she'd put it on, or blankets stacked neatly in a basket by the armchair because Dorcas got cold watching television. Lily's love for the little family they'd built was expressed in this place, this _home_ she'd created. Why wouldn't she want that with James?  
  
"Thing is, Lils," Marlene said, and extended her arm to squeeze Lily's wrist affectionately, "you're still waiting for Snape to say the things you think you need to hear. You want him to say he's sorry for what he did and how he treated you. You want him to repent. But he's never going to do that. He's not sorry for what he did; he still thinks he was right. And the longer you put on hold the revenge of living well, the longer you wait for the I'm sorry that's never coming, the more control you give him. This isn't taking control, Lily, it's giving it away."   
  
Lily swallowed. Marlene made a good case - what if she was holding back? What if she was holding back because she hoped, after all this time, that Severus might turn up one day and say that one word: _sorry_. She didn't want him back, and she didn't want him to tell her he loved her or anything like that; what she wanted was some equilibrium, some cosmic balancing of the injustice so she didn't feel quite so much like she'd been wounded and left to carry on with life still bleeding. She loved James more than anything, could imagine herself growing old with him, could see them living out in the countryside somewhere with children, and a dog. The terrifying thing was taking the first step, and there was something niggling at her, something at the back of her mind that stopped her, that she couldn't quite put her finger on.   
  
"God, when did you get so wise?" Lily laughed, and patted Marlene's hand. She smiled, perhaps a little sadly, and looked at her best friend. "But thank you. I don't know if I have an answer to that right now, but thank you for being honest with me."  
  
"Just something to think about," shrugged Marlene, and fished out her phone. "Now, help me make a new Tinder profile. One of us in this flat needs to be getting laid, and if it isn't you..."

* * *

A floor above, James handed Sirius a bottle of beer. They were sat in the dimly lit sitting room. Playing cards lay before them, roughly pushed into a pile in the middle of the coffee table. The stacks of round chips next to James were significantly larger than those by Sirius; James was a surprisingly good card player. They'd started the evening playing poker with Remus and Dorcas - their usual Tuesday night group - and ended up playing a bastardised version of gin rummy that they'd concocted during second year at university. Now, however, the cards lay abandoned as they finished the last two beers and talked in low voices.   
  
"We're going to hate ourselves in the morning for this, but I'm glad we did it," James said with a smile as he brought his bottle to his lips.   
  
"Tell you who is going to hate me, and that's Remus when I go into bed and inevitably wake him up."  
  
"Beauty of sleeping alone after game night," said James with a wink.   
  
"Where is your better half, anyway? I haven't seen her in an age." Sirius took a drink from his own bottle.  
  
"She's probably fast asleep in her bed right now. Game night's always late."  
  
"Things with guys are good, yeah?"  
  
“Yeah,” James shrugged.  
  
“What does that mean?” frowned Sirius.   
  
“It’s…” James sighed, shaking his head and looking into the middle distance for a second. “We’ve just not seen a lot of one another recently. We’ve both been so busy at work, you know?”  
  
Sirius smiled sadly. Yeah, he knew. Work had been so hectic recently, he'd barely had a chance to spend time with Remus, and the two of them shared a bed, for goodness sake.   
  
"Trust me, that doesn't change when you live with each other," chuckled Sirius. "Remus and my conversations at the moment consist of _stop hogging the covers_ and _did you pay the credit card bill_. Other than when we all sit down for supper, it's like we're sharing a bed and that's about it!"  
  
James laughed.  
  
"Well, I think Lily and I will be much the same when we get around to moving in together - _if_ we get around to moving in together," he finished slightly lamely.   
  
"You don't think you will?" Sirius frowned.  
  
"Honestly, pal, I don't know," James replied with a sigh. "Lily's been avoiding the topic whenever I've brought it up. And don't get me wrong-" he held up his hands- "I love living with you and Remus, I really do. I'm in no rush to get there. But, I think I'd like to know that we will get there, one day. I guess I'm a little jealous of what you and Remus get to have, that's all."  
  
"Lily will tell you when she's ready," Sirius said soothingly. "You know that girl knows her own mind."   
  
"Yeah," James nodded, almost as though convincing himself, "she does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker  
> Song 15: Sedona, by Houndmouth  
> Song 16: Sedated, by Hozier  
> Song 17: 3AM, by Matchbox Twenty


	18. Chain Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Lily's birthday party, and the gang finally learn of Peter's betrayal. 
> 
> T/CW: explicit mention of drugs; explicit mention of a drug-related death; mention of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dark, my apologies. 
> 
> A chapter for the lovely MiriRabinowitz, who has been reading my fics for forever, and who helped me out with all the Pokemon. You're a gem! 
> 
> The original chapter 22.

“Put some ABBA on!”  
  
“James, we’re not putting ABBA on until later!”  
  
James huffed, and threw himself down onto the sofa. He pulled his phone from the top pocket of his garishly-offensive paisley shirt, and looked up to see Lily rolling her eyes.  
  
“What?” he frowned.  
  
“Let me guess,” Lily said sarcastically, “you’re playing Pokemon Go?”  
  
“Obviously. Gotta check on my Arcanine!”  
  
“Honestly, boys,” she muttered. “Cannot believe you managed to get everyone except me playing that stupid game!”  
  
“Excuse you!” Dorcas cried, looking up with wide eyes and shaking a very glittery wig out of her eyes. “James did no such thing! I’ve been playing it since it bloody came out, I just kept it on the down low until Remus mentioned it. Then Sirius started playing, and that got Marls involved, and then James started playing.”  
  
“You’re missing out, Lils,” grinned Sirius as he sauntered into the room. “Even Peter’s playing - he’s got an Alolan Raticate, it’s a hell of a bite.”  
  
“You’ve literally just made a series of noises that definitely weren’t words.” Lily shook her head, smiling. Sirius stuck his tongue out.  
  
“In other news, I have literally never been more insulted by one of you outfits,” Marlene cringed, feigning horror as she shielded her eyes. Sirius looked down at the gold catsuit he was wearing, looking mortally offended.  
  
“Marls! It’s a throwback party! Of course I’m going to wear a gold catsuit.”  
  
“Mate,” James laughed, shaking his head, “we can see _everything_.”  
  
“Then you can see why I stay with him,” said Remus drily, not looking up from where he poured out a beer into a glass. As Remus spoke, James had taken a gulp of beer. On hearing Remus’ response, he spluttered, and emerged from the glass coughing. Sirius roared with laughter.  
  
“I fucking love you, Moony,” he grinned.  
  
The group of them were gathered in the Marauders’ flat, the sofas pushed back against the walls. The end of January had arrived, and with it, Lily’s birthday. After a month of no alcohol and rather depressing bank balances, the prospect of an evening with their friends, too much to drink and Sirius’ very best throwback playlist was welcome indeed. Where the girls were tastefully dressed in 60s go-go boots and dresses, James had procured a frightening pair of 70s flares to go with his hideous shirt, and looked equally as ridiculous as Sirius did in his slightly-too-small gold catsuit and platform shoes. Remus, on the other hand, had surprised them all by donning a leather jacket and a pair of tight jeans, both of which he’d stolen from Sirius, and using too-much hair gel to smooth his curls into a convincing 50s quiff. They’d decorated the flat with some truly offensive psychedelic decorations that Sirius had come home with one afternoon earlier in the week. Even Snuffles hadn’t been spared the retro treatment: the dog was wandering the flat with a tie-dye scarf knotted about his collar.  
  
Sirius strolled into the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge, nodding happily when he saw the stocks of food and drink that he and James had arranged. Remus - being the most talented baker of them by far - had prepared a beautiful looking cake for Lily that was resting in the kitchen; early grey sponge with a lemon icing and delicate, hand painted flowers. His mother had run a cake decorating business for a very long time before she got ill, and Remus had learn everything from her. It promised to be a night to remember; or, indeed, a night to forget.  
  
As he wandered back into the sitting room with his fresh beer, Sirius popped the cap off with a bottle-opener. Amber liquid turned to white foam and burst forth from the container, missing the floor and instead soaking through onto the torso of Sirius' catsuit. The lurid gold spandex turned a dark coppery sort of colour.  
  
"Good one, Padfoot," James snorted, resting his foot on the coffee table as he watched Sirius spill beer over himself.  
  
"Ah, _shit_ ," Sirius said, looking down at where the beer had fizzed up and out of the bottle. "I'll be back in a minute, guys."  
  
In the bathroom Sirius dabbed at the mark on the catsuit with a towel, sopping up some of the liquid. It looked like it would dry soon enough, he thought, and anyway, it was going to be dark soon and everyone was hopefully going to be very drunk. He hummed a Depeche Mode song under his breath, and heard through the bathroom door the sound of the doorbell ringing and voices from the hall. He paid it no mind.  
  
Had Sirius not been consumed by humming and dealing with the beer on his outfit, however, he might have registered the fact that it was far too early for anyone to be arriving - the party didn't start for another two hours, and the Marauders and the girls were all present. He might have noticed that it sounded like far too many people, anyway, and certainly too many men's voices. He might even have noticed the sound of James' usually-mellow voice turning harsh as he asked _what the fuck are you doing here?_  
  
Sirius finished dabbing at the mark on his gold spandex and hung the towel back up over the rail. He checked his appearance in the mirror and grinned. He looked ridiculous, in the best possible way; the others had been right when they'd said that the catsuit left nothing to the imagination. He was excited for the huge amounts of beer, cake and cheesy music tonight; he was even more excited about the prospect of dancing with Remus on the kitchen table until the early hours of the morning, when the hair gel might have been rubbed from his hair and the leather jacket abandoned, before they stumbled into their room to seal the evening in sloppy, drunken kisses and fumbling hands and giggling whispers.  
  
Swinging open the bathroom door, Sirius stepped into the corridor to be confronted with a throng of people. They weren't guests at the party, that was for certain; there were no psychedelic costumes or leather jackets here. No, from his vantage point in the corridor, Sirius could see the faces of young men - impeccably dressed young men with expensive jackets and cashmere scarves and haughty faces that he knew only too well.  
  
Sirius froze. _What the fuck were they all doing here?_ He could see the almost-white locks of Lucius Malfoy, in between what looked like Thorfinn Rowle and Antonin Dolohov. And next to them... was that Regulus? Bile rose in Sirius' throat at the sight of his little brother; it had been, what, two years since they last saw one another? Regulus still had that pinched look about his face, and haunted eyes that reminded Sirius so horrifyingly of their mother. Over the heads of the gathered men, Sirius could see Snape and James in the sitting room, and looking like they were only moments away from beating the living daylights out of one another.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Sirius muttered, “that oily bag of dicks.” He turned around, looking for a place to put his drink. He shoved it into the pot of a slightly dry-looking fern that James had bought, and straightened up.  
  
“Back the fuck off,” James snarled. He was centimetres from Snape’s face. Sirius hadn’t ever seen Jame look quite so furious.  
  
“James,” Lily pleaded, pulling at his arm, “just leave it. It’s not worth it.”  
  
And that's the truest thing Lily's ever said, Sirius thought. Snape wasn't worth it. Snape was so far below James, he must look minute, because James was Sirius' idea of the Platonic ideal, the best, best friend he could ever hope for. Whatever was going on, Sirius was absolutely not having it.  
  
“Snivellus!” he cried, spreading his arms wide as he walked back into the room, in some faux gesture of welcome. The crowd of boys parted like the Red Sea. “How lovely of you to stop by when we’re celebrating such an important day. And I see you’ve brought my little brother,” Sirius said, his smile faltering only slightly as he laid his eyes on Regulus. “It’s good to see you, Reg, but you could have called if you wanted to come over - no need to bring the, er, _goon squad_.”  
  
Sirius wasn’t joking anymore, that was for certain. The smile had gone from his face, and his eyes were flashing dangerously. Then the group parted, and a young man with high, pale cheekbones and dark, perfectly coiffed hair stepped forward.  
  
“Sirius Black,” Riddle said, and a shiver ran down Sirius’ back as he heard his voice, high-pitched and reedy.  
  
“Tom, what a pleasure,” Sirius replied smoothly. "My cousin not joining you this evening, or is it Rodolphus' timeshare tonight?"  
  
“What the fuck are you wearing?” snorted Riddle, looking up and down at Sirius’ catsuit.  
  
“It’s called a costume,” said Sirius slowly, spelling out the syllables as though Riddle was an idiot and Sirius was doing him a favour by explaining. “You know, the sort of thing that you wear to a party? With _friends_ , although I'm not sure you really know what friends are, Tom.”  
  
“You look like a fucking _poof_ ,” sneered Riddle, and Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. There was a bile rising in his throat, a fear that something might happen to upset this fragile equilibrium, that something might happen to the girls, or James, or - God forbid - Remus. Sirius did the only thing he knew how to do, the thing he’d learnt from Grimmauld: he laughed. _Never show weakness. Never show pain._  
  
“Good thing I am a poof then, isn’t it?” Sirius raised an eyebrow as casually as he could. “It’s a shame you’re not staying, Tom, otherwise I’d show you a good time.”  
  
It was a dangerous joke to make, but Sirius knew he was in dangerous territory. There were so many of them, in comparison to just him and James and Remus. He thought that Marlene could probably throw a good punch if necessary - she'd got four brothers after all - but Lily and Dorcas were short and dainty, and these young men _towered_ over them.  
  
“You’re gay as well as a blood traitor?” Riddle gaped and then threw a smirk towards Lucius. "I see now why your fiancee doesn't want him at the wedding, Malfoy."  
  
"Neither do I," Lucius drawled back, almost sounding _bored_ by the whole thing.  
  
“Yeah,” Sirius jutted his chin up defiantly, "I'm bi, and I'm a blood traitor, as you put it. Proudly, actually."  
  
Sirius said _proudly_ , and he meant it, but that didn't stop the fear that was coursing through his veins. He'd never been prouder of anything like he was proud of the life he'd built. He and Remus were good together; really bloody fucking good. They argued over doing the ironing and whether they'd paid the phone bill; they went on double dates with James and Lily. They were disgustingly domestic, saccharine in their normality. After a lifetime of abnormality, of course Sirius was damn proud of that.  
  
“Proud? Look at this place,” Riddle sneered, “it’s a shit hole. And these people? You’re embarrassing yourself.”  
  
“It’s home,” replied Sirius, very calmly, “and this is my family. How the hell did you find out where we live, anyway?”   
  
“Your friend, Peter Pettigrew,” smiled Riddle indulgently.  
  
“What?” James asked harshly, frowning.  
  
Riddle turned, and gestured.  
  
_Peter._  
  
Peter, standing there, in those too-new jeans, and those stupid suede loafers. Peter, standing there, his face mutinous and dark with what might have been defiance, or perhaps regret, or might even have been shame. Sirius felt sick.  
  
“What the fuck?” James barked again.  
  
“Peter?” Remus gaped, looking crestfallen as he took in the sight of their friend.  
  
"Hullo," replied Peter mulishly, meeting no one's eye. Sirius watched as he shifted from one foot to the other in those stupid, too-new shoes. They looked like they'd been cleaned recently, and Sirius could just picture it: Peter, sitting in his flat in Bristol, suede cleaner and cloth out on the coffee table, buffing those shoes like they were the fucking crown jewels. Sirius wanted to say something about how Peter only had to ask if he'd wanted a pair of suede shoes for Christmas, but he knew it wasn't that; it wasn't the shoes that Peter wanted. It was what the shoes represented: money and status and influence and power and significance. That was what Peter craved, wasn't it? _Significance_. He wasn't content with what the rest of them wanted, which was security and family and goodness and wholeness. Sirius and Remus couldn't care less about whether they made names for themselves, and the only name James was really concerned with was whether one day he might be known as _Lily Evans' husband_. But Peter... Peter wanted to _matter_ in a way the rest of them didn't.  
  
"But..." Remus shook his head, astonishment on his face. "We're Marauders..."  
  
“Yeah, and you know what?” Peter asked, his voice strained and tight, quivering only slightly. “I was never really one of you, was I?”  
  
“You were like my brother,” James whispered. "We've all been family, ever since we met."  
  
"No," Peter shook his head, " _you three_ have been family. I've always been the outsider. You all moved in together, you have these lives without me, you didn't help me out when I told you about Marlene, Sirius, and-"  
  
"How the fuck am I involved in this?" Marlene frowned from where she was perched on the edge of an armchair. Sirius raised his eyebrows at Peter because he couldn't seriously believe that Peter thought he'd been doing him anything other than a favour by telling him that Marlene would, frankly, not ever want to date Peter.  
  
"Marlene," Peter cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at Marlene, "you know I've always thought very highly of you, and- well, I mentioned this to Sirius, I thought, y'know, you and I..."  
  
"Peter, I like vagina," she said bluntly, cottoning on to what Peter meant as her lip curled in disgust. "Unless you've got a secret one of those, I'm not interested. Even if you did have a secret one of those, I'd rather wrestle an alligator or sleep with Sirius. No offence, mate," she grinned at Sirius.  
  
"None taken, babe," shot back Sirius with a wink.  
  
"I told you, Pettigrew, she's not the sort of girl you want, anyway," Snape sneered. "Opens her legs for anyone, does Marlene."  
  
"Lovely to see you too, Snape," Marlene replied cooly, as Lily went bright red.  
  
"How _dare_ you speak to my best friend like that?" she hissed at Snape, taking a step forward. James instinctively put out a hand to stop her.  
  
"Because that's the kind of reputation she's got, Lily," Snape said harshly, "and that's the kind of reputation _you_  will get if you spend anymore time with these people."  
  
"You are insane," replied Marlene before Lily could respond, her eyebrows shooting upwards, "actually certifiably insane." She took a step forward toward Snape. "What's more, you're embarrassingly insane. It has been years, you pathetic little man, and you're still not over the fact that Lily dumped you and found someone better."  
  
Now it was Marlene and Snape who were standing close to one another. James caught Sirius' gaze, his eyes wide as though to say _what the fuck are we going to do?_ Sirius didn't know, if he was honest; he'd never seen Marlene lose her cool.  
  
"Better?" Snape laughed a harsh, cold laugh. "You think _he_ is better?" He jerked his head towards James.  
  
"Yeah," nodded Marlene, "I think he's fucking terrific, _actually_."  
  
Snape lifted a finger and prodded Marlene roughly on the collarbone.  
  
"Then you're even more the dumb blonde than I thought."  
  
"I think the fuck not," Dorcas snapped, and roughly pushed forward so she was in line with Marlene. "Don't think for an instant I won't break your fucking face if you touch her again, _Severus_."  
  
“My dad,” Sirius said suddenly, and the eyes of the room darted toward him. He wasn't looking at Snape, like James and the girls; he was looking at Peter.  
  
“W-what?” Peter stuttered.  
  
“It was you…” Sirius took a step forward. “You knew where I was living, where I was working. Wouldn't have been hard to tell Lucius or Regulus where I was. No wonder my fucking psychopath of a father could find me."  
  
Peter didn't say anything. He'd gone a funny sort of puce colour, irritation now the predominant emotion on his face when he looked at Sirius. Of course it was, Sirius thought, because Peter had always been desperately annoyed at what he considered to be Sirius' - what was it? _Pissing opportunity into the wind._ There was silence as the two men stared at one another. Sirius' sharp grey eyes met Peter's watery blue ones, and he thought he might have seen - just for a second - a hint of fear in Peter. In the background, Sirius vaguely registered the noise of Snuffle's claws _click-click-click_ -ing against the hardwood floor.  
  
“What the fuck is that?” Riddle jumped, clearly only noticing Snuffles approaching. Sirius broke his eye contact with Peter, and glanced down.  
  
“Scared of dogs, are we, Tom?” he asked cooly, raising an eyebrow. The Marauders had to hide their smirks - the dog was, to all who knew him, a complete softy. Riddle took a step towards Sirius before Snuffles let out what Sirius was certain was the first and only growl of his life. Riddle stopped.  
  
"Of course I'm not," he scoffed. "Although doesn't surprise me that you've got a mutt for company."  
  
"Better a mutt than inbreeding," quipped Sirius in return. He swept his hands out and gestured at the various young men Riddle had brought with him - sons of the aristocracy, like Regulus; sons of wealthy Russians, like Dolohov; sons of circumstance and chance and luck and fate, like Snape and Peter.  
Riddle's face betrayed only a flicker at irritation at that comment.  
  
"Oh, very witty," he murmured, slipping a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket. Sirius swallowed, terrified at the man opposite him was about to pull out a knife, or a gun, or some other weapon that might hurt the girls, or James, or Remus. “However, as much as I'm enjoying your repartee, Sirius, I'm afraid we'll be leaving."  
  
“Excellent.” Sirius narrowed his eyes at the others in the room, as though daring them to contradict their leader, to plant their feet upon the floor and set down roots and refuse to move. In particular, he looked at Regulus. The other Black - the other side of the coin - was pale and drawn. He looked like some washed out, washed up Atlas, bearing the weight of whatever world it was he inhabited nowadays. There was a pang of regret and pain mixed into the rising bile in Sirius’ throat when he looked at his brother.  
  
“Go,” James says harshly, his voice breaking the silence that was taking up the space in the room. And Sirius was once again reminded that it wasn't Regulus who was his brother; their biology bound them to one another, certainly, but there were things that mattered more than blood.  
  
"We'll be in touch, Sirius," Riddle said with a smirk, and pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. He handed it to Sirius. "I just thought I'd pop by to remind you of a few things. Perhaps we can talk soon."  
  
Sirius snatched the paper up, not breaking eye contact with Riddle until the other young man had turned. There was a rather awkward shuffling as the group who had accompanied him parted to allow their leader out the flat, traipsing after Riddle like a line of school boys. Peter's familiar figure was the last; stocky, dirty blond hair, awkward gait. _Almost like nothing had changed_ , Sirius thought. And yet it had. Everything. Everything had changed.   
  
Peter paused for a moment, looking back at them all.  
  
"It's for the best," he said gruffly. "It's better for all of us this way."  
  
Then, Peter was gone, and the flat had gone deathly silent. The six of them stood there, frozen to the spot, staring at the open door. Sirius then looked down at the small piece of paper, folded neatly down the middle. He opened it with shaking hands to reveal two words written in neat, fluid handwriting that Sirius would recognise anywhere, because it was near identical to his own - Regulus' handwriting.  
  
The note said simply: _Corban Yaxley_.

* * *

“Morning, gang.”  
  
Sirius turned round as the girls traipsed into the kitchen. They all looked somewhat the worse for wear; even Dorcas, who was notoriously impervious to a hangover. In their defence, all of them had consumed more than their body weight in tequila. The guests had arrived an hour after Riddle and his cronies had left, and in the time in between, Remus, Sirius and James had sat in near-silence on the sofa, staring into the distance and passing a bottle between them. They'd tried, of course, to be more cheerful upon the arrival of their guests, but the night had been more than a little ruined. They'd even, foolishly, forgotten to serve Lily's birthday cake, which now sat in the middle of the table waiting for them to enjoy it after breakfast.  
  
The group settled themselves around the table. Remus had prepared breakfast, and dished up, handing the plates round to subdued refrains of thank you and cheers.  
  
"So..." Dorcas said finally, as they all tucked into the eggs and bacon that Remus had made, "are we going to talk about last night, or...?"  
  
"What's there to talk about?" Sirius replied gruffly.  
  
"I don't know," Marlene quipped, "I suppose there might have been something about Lily's insane ex-boyfriend turning up, the guy you thought was your best friend telling him where we all live, and a deranged guy who's shagging your cousin bringing is posse of lunatics along for the ride."  
  
“Actually just can’t believe it was Peter who told them where we live,” James said sadly, shaking his head. “We never asked for any of the fuss, they’re the ones who’ve got the vendetta against us.”  
  
“Fucking traitor, that’s what Peter is,” spat Sirius, his eyes dark and flashing. “You guys never asked to be dragged into my family drama, and he knows that, and he sold everyone out just so that he could feel like he’s done something with his pathetic, miserable life.”  
  
“Sirius!” chided Remus.  
  
“What? It’s true, isn’t it? We loved Pete like a brother and he moves to Bristol and starts hanging out with Satan’s minions, and then Satan himself rocks up at Evans’ party. All because someone worked out that Pete needed his ego stroking.”  
  
“Well, it’s not just your family drama,” Lily pointed out, “it’s also my psychotic ex-boyfriend.”  
  
“Who _is_ that Riddle guy?” Marlene asked, picking up a cup of coffee and blowing on it. “I know we ran into him when we were at uni, but I don’t think I’ve ever got his backstory.”  
  
“Oh man,” Sirius puffed out his cheeks, “it’s a wild ride. Bellatrix picked him up during her first year at uni - we’re not really sure where he came from before that, because he’s quite a bit older than her. He’s always had this sort of gang around him; they use the name Death Eaters, can you imagine, as though that makes them sound hard.”  
  
“Honestly, men baffle me,” Marlene muttered.  
  
"Anyway,” Sirius continued, “he calls himself Lord Voldemort; says he’s descended from the Gaunts, who are these potty aristocrats from Little Hangleton, up north. I don’t know if it’s true, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised - when we were kids, we always used to get told that if we didn’t behave, Marvolo Gaunt would come get us in the night. Used to scare the shit out of me, actually.”  
  
“Is everyone you know just entirely crackers?” Dorcas asked.  
  
“Yes,” Sirius said, seriously.  
  
“So Bellatrix met him at uni, and then what?” Lily asked, as she leant across James and helped herself to a croissant.  
  
“Well, Riddle’s funny - surrounds himself with all the sons and daughters of the aristocracy that he can find. Bellatrix, obviously, and my cousin Narcissa, as well. Avery, Mulciber, both Lestrange brothers, although that last one’s not surprising considering I think both Rodolphus and Rabastan are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. Malfoy, obviously.”  
  
“Lucius Malfoy has hair that reminds me of Cousin It,” Dorcas added, through a mouthful of toast.  
  
“Lucius Malfoy has the personality of Cousin It,” Sirius replied. “Only less funny.”  
  
“No wonder he ended up friends with Riddle, then,” said Marlene.  
  
“Why’s Riddle got such a grudge against you, though?” Dorcas frowned.  
  
Sirius sighed. He glanced round the table at their expectant faces, and knew he had to tell them. The story that only two people really knew - and they were sitting either side of him. He glanced from one to the other, from James to Remus, before fixing his eyes on the sugar bowl, and beginning to talk.  
  
“After Bellatrix met Riddle, he ended up moving in similar social circles, you know? Like, through Bella he met Narcissa, and therefore Lucius, and so on. Got cosy with the older siblings of a lot of people I was at school with. Ended up supplying to a lot of the guys in my year, and not just weed - nasty stuff, stuff no school kid should have their hands on.”  
  
“That’s so fucked up,” Dorcas said, revulsion on her face.  
  
“Right?” Sirius winced. “When I was at school, there was a guy in my year - Yaxley. He was an idiot, but most of the guys I went to school with are idiots, to be honest. Just after we left school, the summer before uni, there was this house party. Dedalus Diggle’s party - you met Deda, Marlene, remember?”  
  
Marlene nodded.  
  
“Anyway, Yaxley copped it - they found him in one of the bathrooms. Cocaine laced with a drug vets use to fucking treat worms in horses. Kid didn’t stand a chance.”  
  
There was a stunned silence around the table, and Sirius fiddled awkwardly with his napkin. Under the table, he felt Remus rest a hand on his thigh, soothingly rubbing his thumb back and forth in a gesture they both understood: I’m here. On Sirius’ other side, James rested a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, squeezing it. The two of them, Remus and James, had been the first people Sirius had ever talked about this story to; not even his Uncle Alphard had heard it quite so explicitly. It had been a night at university, in their first semester, where they’d sat about in Sirius’ room and talked about life, slowly getting drunk on cheap cider. One thing had led to another, and Sirius had told them. He’d cried with the unburdening of it all, and instead of mocking him, the two had simply pulled him into a fierce hug. It had been then that he’d known, without a doubt, he’d met his real family.  
  
Sirius swallowed, and continued talking.  
  
“Everyone knew Riddle had supplied the stuff to Yaxley, because he’d also supplied a hell of a lot of the other stuff at that party. I tried to tell the police, but they weren’t interested. Everything got hushed up - no charges for anyone, despite the fact that place reeked of weed. It all got blamed on some local dealer.”  
  
“ _No!_ ” Lily said, her voice a hushed whisper and her eyes wide. “You’re joking?”  
  
“Afraid not,” Sirius sighed, looking up at her. “But, that’s why Riddle hates me so much. He hates me because I tried to get some kind of justice for poor old Yaxley. I didn’t like the kid, but God, no one deserves to die alone aged eighteen in a bathroom at a shitty house party.”  
  
“And that’s… that’s why he targeted Regulus, right?” asked Marlene. Her face looked a mixture of sympathy and repulsion. Sirius nodded morosely.  
  
“It’s why I never wanted Regulus to get involved with him. I know what Riddle can do.”  
  
They sat in the silence together for a few minutes. Sirius could tell there were questions; there would always be questions. They’d invariably be the same questions that haunted him in the early hours, the time when he was pulled and stretched by the nimble fingers of the dark. _Why hadn’t he done more? Why hadn’t he reported Riddle long before Deadlus’ party, if he knew how dangerous he could be? Why hadn’t he done more to help Regulus out of that world, so he didn’t end up the way he has? Why, why, why?_  
  
“You never bought from him, did you?” Dorcas asked finally, breaking the silence.  
  
“What? God, no!” said Sirius, shaking his head wildly.  
  
There was a moment of silence, again. The gravity of the story Sirius had just told seemed to hang in the air before them.  
  
“Thank you for telling us.” Marlene spoke quietly, and Sirius looked up. He studied her, a flicker of something across his face - regret, perhaps, but also relief. Of all the people, he thought, he hadn’t expected it to be Marlene who’d say it.  
  
“It… can’t be easy, carrying that round with you,” she continued, meeting his eye. “Feeling like you failed to get justice for someone.”  
  
“It’s not,” admitted Sirius, letting out a shaky sigh.  
  
“I just can’t believe they got away with it!” exclaimed Lily, a hot flush creeping up her neck and cheeks. “It’s awful!”  
  
“That’s the problem with money and power and status, Lils,” Sirius replied, finally. “People think they can do whatever they want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker  
> Song 15: Sedona, by Houndmouth  
> Song 16: Sedated, by Hozier  
> Song 17: 3AM, by Matchbox Twenty  
> Song 18: Chain Reaction, by Diana Ross


	19. One of the Brightest Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as things seem to be getting back to normal, everything changes for Sirius...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the wonderful confundedgryffindor, in the hopes it cheers him (kind of?) in his illness. His Regulus will always be an inspiration.

“Fuck me, it’s cold out there!” Sirius exclaimed, as he bustled through the front door. It was the beginning of February, James was out with Lily, and Sirius was looking forward to a quiet evening after finally getting to leave work following a hell of an afternoon. Lockhart, in his typically-useless fashion, had managed to send a mass email canceling half of their incoming pieces. Madame Zabini was catatonic, and Sirius had been tasked with dealing with the fallout after Lockhart had collapsed, blubbering, behind his desk.   
  
Sirius shucked his coat and scarf and hung them haphazardly on the hooks by the door. Remus had promised steak pie for supper, and Sirius was practically salivating at the thought; the flaky pastry that Remus was just so good at had been at the forefront of his mind since about two o'clock that afternoon, just before the tsunami of a disaster had found its ways to his shores. Smiling at the thought, Sirius walked into the sitting room to be greeted by a sight which, had he been asked to predict what awaited him when he got home, would have been so low on his list of guesses that it bordered on impossible.   
  
“Regulus?”  
  
Sirius' brother was standing by the fireplace, one hand in the pocket of his suit trousers and the other around a glass of red wine. He looked every inch the perfect aristocrat; the Honourable Regulus Arcturus Black was like that, of course. Sirius recognised the tailoring of the suit—it was the same tailoring their father wore, navy wool made up with perfect precision by masters of the craft on Bond Street. In fact, Sirius thought appraisingly, if it weren't for the fact that Regulus was taller and more willowy than their bullish father, it could have been their father's suit. That was the way with their sort of family; everything took on this strange quality of timelessness, an absence of time at all, as though the clothing and the decor and the hairstyles might have lasted for centuries already and were prepared to last for centuries more.   
  
"Sirius," replied his brother smoothly. Beside him, Remus looked intensely uncomfortable, Sirius thought, with his eyes darting back-and-forth between the brothers. His fingers were twisting awkwardly around the stem of his wine glass, the garnet liquid glowing in the soft light of the lamp.   
  
"What are you doing here?" asked Sirius, the words coming slowly out of his mouth like treacle, the very presence of his brother making his mouth slow to work and sluggish to form the syllables.   
  
"I have... news," replied Regulus curtly. He looked at Remus out the corner of his eye.   
  
"Go on," Sirius frowned.  
  
"Well—" the younger Black cut himself off, and glance up at the ceiling for a moment. Remus caught on, and blustered awkwardly.  
  
"Er, right, I supposed I'l go and sort supper, then, I'll just—"  
  
"No," interrupted Sirius with a shake of his head, "I want you to stay."  
  
"Sirius—" Regulus' tone of voice was a warning, and Sirius bit back the urge to bark _you sound just like Dad_.   
  
"I'll tell Remus whatever it is anyway," he offered instead. "Might as well save me repeating things."  
  
There was a pause. Then—  
  
“It’s Dad,” Regulus said, finally. “He’s dead.”  
  
It was as though the air in Sirius' lungs had all but vanished, sucked out and into a vacuum before swirling round and round and round him until he could barely see for dizziness. He clutched at the arm of the sofa beside him, willing his legs to keep him upright and his stomach to settle its churning. _Dead._ His father was dead. Orion, who had ruled Sirius' life with an iron fist and a brutish, gory violence from the moment of his birth until he was sixteen years old, and even in the years since then had dug his claws into Sirius' back and marked his flesh. _Dead._ No more nicotine-stained teeth bared into that terrifying smile, no more salt-and-pepper hair pushed back with pomade, no more dark eyes staring him down as his father's clipped consonants threatened his life. _Here lies Orion Perseus Black, 13th Earl of Grimmauld. Dead._  
  
“So, congratulations are in order, I suppose,” Regulus continued. “You’re now the Earl of Grimmauld.”  
  
Things came to life in the silence between them. Buds of anger burst into blooms of regret, a verdant garden of sickening, silent emotions that had become corpse flowers. Sirius went slack-jawed at Regulus' words: _you're now the Earl of Grimmauld_. Everything he'd never wanted to be, he'd become.   
  
“Fuck,” Sirius said. He sat heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring into the middle distance. “ _Fuck_.”   
  
“Eloquent,” Regulus sniped, but Sirius ignored him.   
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sirius ran both hands through his hair, eyes wide.   
  
“You’ll take the title, of course, and with it the associated privileges. Something tells me you won’t take the seat in the House of Lords, but—“  
  
“How did he die?” Sirius interrupted and finally looked at his brother. There was yet another silence between them, but _God_ , what a pregnant silence, laden with so many year of things left unsaid.   
  
“Liver failure.” Regulus swallowed, a flicker of emotion on his face.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Liver failure. Found out last summer. You can understand why he didn't tell you."  
  
_Last summer._ Last summer was when Sirius moved back down to London. Last summer was when it was blazing hot and he and Remus had eaten ice cream together almost every day and explored the park. Last summer was when James moved in and they'd all drunk together on the roof, eating themselves into a food coma with pizza and strawberries. It was when he'd started working for Madame Zabini, finding joy and purpose and meaning in curating art that challenged and delighted him. Sirius was pulled from the thoughts of _last summer_ by Regulus' voice.   
  
“The funeral is—“  
  
“I’m not going.”  
  
“Sirius,” Remus breathed.   
  
“You’re seriously inheriting his title and you can’t even turn up to pay you respects?” Regulus asked angrily, the colour rising in his face.   
  
“Reg, he wouldn’t want me there!” Sirius laughed bitterly.  
  
“Everyone’s going to be there, Sirius.”  
  
“Everyone?”

Regulus avoided eye contact, and began reeling off names. “The Carrows—I’m sure you remember Amycus and Alecto from school, of course.”  
  
“Psychopaths,” muttered Sirius.  
  
“Lord and Lady Ollivander have been invited, but I doubt they’ll turn up, you know what Garrick Ollivander is like.”   
  
“Garrick Ollivander gave me my first illicit glass of wine at a Christmas party when I was eleven,” Sirius said, grinning wickedly at the sudden memory.   
  
“Cantankerous Nott, he’ll be there.”  
  
Remus let out an uncomfortable cough, and the brothers turned to look at him.  
  
“Sorry,” he blushed, “but did you just say _Cantankerous_ Nott?”  
  
“Viscount Nott. He’s a famous historian of bloodlines,” Regulus said stiffly, and Sirius laughed.  
  
“He’s a raging crackpot, Rem. He started this book about our supposedly-noble families - you know the sort, the kind of book that excludes any ancient family who might have had an affair with a servant here or there over the last millennium,” Sirius said drolly.  
  
“Right,” Remus grimaced.   
  
“Horace Slughorn sent a note to say he can’t attend, which was thoughtful of him,” Regulus continued, seemingly ignoring Sirius’ exchange with his boyfriend.   
  
“An old teacher of ours,” Sirius explained to Remus. “He’s the younger son of Baron Slughorn, who was this nutty old guy who—“  
  
“Yes, thank you, Sirius,” Regulus interrupted, through gritted teeth. “Needless to say, you think pretty much everyone who’ll be in attendance is, as you so eloquently put it, _nutty_.”   
  
Sirius rolled his eyes.   
  
“Let me guess,” he said, “the Lestranges will be there. So will the Malfoys - you know old Abraxas can’t miss a free drink. Weird Tom Riddle will probably turn up as moral support for Bella or something, and take turns with Rodolphus holding her hand - and that’s the PG version.”   
  
“Sirius!” Regulus hissed.  
  
The older brother rolled his eyes, springing up from the arm of the sofa. Blood was pounding in his ears.   
  
“Come _on_ , Regulus! You can see how _insane_ this is, can’t you? Our blood’s not any more special than James’ or Remus’ or anyone else’s! Why the hell should I put on these airs and graces instead of being normal, or dare I say it, happy?”   
  
“ _Happy_?” Regulus laughed. “You’re telling me you’re happy, Sirius?"  
  
The room stilled for a moment, as though it had been swirling like a merry-go-round that had then been brought to a sharp halt. _What the hell was Regulus getting at?_ Happy didn't cover it. Happy was a pale reflection of what Sirius felt about the life he'd built.   
  
"Of course I'm happy," Sirius snarled. "Then again, I don't know why you think you'd be an arbiter of that, Regulus, considering the fact I don't think I've seen you smile genuinely since about 2001."  
  
Regulus stiffened in response.  
  
“I am happy.” He didn't meet Sirius' eye.   
  
“Are you?”   
  
"Of course" continued Regulus smoothly. "I don't live—" he gestured around the room with a movement that was so very Orion that Sirius went cold— " _here_."  
  
"No, you don't live here, but you've been spending an awfully large amount of time here for someone who supposedly hates it," spat Sirius. "What, think I don't remember you turning up here recently with Riddle and the rest of your fetid friends? You seem to be so obsessed with me that you worked to turn Peter, one of my best friends, against me! And that's not even getting started on Riddle, either. A _murderer_ , Regulus. At least my conscience is clear."  
  
Regulus blanched.   
  
"There were never any charges brought against Voldemort," he hissed—  
  
"Of course you call him by his _noble_ name," Sirius muttered—  
  
“—and I know you might not have any regrets,” continued Regulus with a waspish sneer, “but I'd say it should probably weigh on your conscience a little more how much you've managed to royally fuck things up for our family."  
  
Neither of them spoke. Sirius looked at his younger brother with a mixture of sadness, pity, and oddly, curiosity. They'd never been close. They were too different, even as children: Sirius wore more than just his heart on his sleeve, he wore his morality too, woven into the very fibres of his being. He didn't know how to be anything else. Regulus, by contrast, had always been Walburga's son. He was guarded and secretive and held his cards close to his chest, playing them like a master poker player when he had to, but never giving them freely. That was a mark of most of the Black family, if Sirius was really honest: they took. They didn't give, never had in all their centuries of being.   
  
“I do, actually,” Sirius said quietly. “I have a lot of regrets. I regret having a father who wanted a legacy, not a son. I regret not hauling my arse out of there sooner. I regret not asking you to come with me, Reg - there was room for both of us with Uncle A.”   
  
“I wouldn’t have come with you,” said Regulus, a little too quickly.  
  
“I know,” Sirius said simply, “but I should have asked.”   
  
Silence. _More fucking silence._ Sirius had never realised quite how little he and Regulus had to say to one another nowadays. They shared blood, shared faces - almost mirror images of one another, really, save for the fact that Regulus had Walburga's pinched chin and Sirius Orion's strong jaw. But that was it. Brothers, and yet strangers.   
  
“I should go,” Regulus said finally, setting his wine glass on the coffee table. “I need to get back. Mother… well, she’s not doing so well with the news.”   
  
He moved across the room without a backwards glance, leaving Sirius and Remus simply staring at his retreating back. As he reached the door—  
  
“Regulus,” Sirius uttered softly, the word catching in his throat. It made his brother pause. He glanced over his shoulder at Sirius for a minute, his eyes sad. The emotion flared and died in his eyes before Regulus spoke.   
   
"I'm sure we'll be seeing each other, Lord Black."  
  
With that, Regulus was gone.   
  
Orion's ghost was on Sirius' chest. He couldn't breathe; spectral limbs were wrapped around his wrists like cuffs, his ribs matched by some ghostly cage that constrained his breath, that snaked a ghoulish limb around his throat and cut the oxygen supply. Sirius pitched forward and off the arm of the sofa, sinking down onto the floor. He put his head in his hands. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._  
  
His father was dead. Sirius had thought about this day for years; dare he say it, he'd probably fantasised about it. Now it had happened, and he didn't want it, did't want all the things it meant and all the things it entailed. Sirius felt strong arms encircle him. He leant into the soft cotton of Remus' ratty sweatshirt, with the paint stains on the sleeves and the fraying cuffs. There were no rigid suits and carefully polished shoes here, and something about that made tears flood Sirius' eyes. He began to weep.   
  
He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, Remus with his arms wrapped around Sirius and whispering calming nothings into his hair. The tears stopped, and his breathing began to return to normal, even if his heart still felt like it was in his mouth. Remus pulled back and looked at him, worry creasing between his brows and anxiety written all over his face.   
  
“What can I do?” he asked gently.   
  
“I think I want to sit on the roof,” Sirius replied quietly. “Come with me, will you?”   
  
The two of them made their way up the creaking set of stairs and onto the roof, sucking in sharp breaths at the cold February air. It was a clear night. Through the light pollution, Sirius could just about make out the North Star, and swallowed, gripping the rusting railing as he realised again that the man who had seen more than destiny in the stars, but birthright, was dead.   
  
He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Remus slid a hand onto Sirius' lower back, his thumb rubbing circles. Sirius wanted to bottle that feeling of Remus' hand against his body; he wanted to be able to drink it down and have it flood his senses and override all this emotion that was swirling in his veins and threatening to expel itself at any moment.   
  
"Pads..." Remus cleared his throat awkwardly. "Pads, are you sure you don't want to go to the funeral? I know you didn't get a chance when your uncle died to... grieve collectively, and maybe-"  
  
"You don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, do you?" Sirius laughed harshly. He pulled away from Remus as the unknown emotion in his chest turned into anger. He spread his arms out and looked at Remus with wild eyes. "Do you think they'll welcome me back with open arms? _Oh Sirius_ ," he mimicked, " _how wonderful to see you after all these years! It's a shame you didn't bring your boyfriend so we could be ragingly homophobic to him, too_!"   
  
"Are—aren't even some of them worth seeing?" Remus' brow was furrowed. Sirius felt a pang of regret for lashing out. Remus didn't understand, and if anything, Sirius was glad of that—he was glad of the fact that Remus' relationship with Hope and Lyall was nothing like his own with his parents. Sure, Remus didn't really have much in common with his family; he was high-minded, an intellectual, where his folks were earthier, more practical. But they loved one another, even if nothing much bound them other than that. Sirius sighed, and gestured for Remus to come closer again, so he could hear the quiver in Sirius' voice when he spoke.   
  
“My cousin, Andromeda, she married a black guy. Caused quite a fuss, let me tell you. Their kid, Nymphadora—“  
  
“Did you say _Nymphadora_?” gaped Remus.   
  
“Constellations, remember?” Sirius shook his head and looked out across the lights of the city. "Anyway, they disowned her for that, and they have used every legal trick in the book to make sure that Dora can't get any money. So really, it's not just my side of the family. It's all of them, the whole sorry lot of them. They're fucked in the head, Rem, there's no coming back from that. Me turning up to the funeral isn't going to fix that."  
  
Remus nodded. Sirius could tell that he didn't really understand; Remus didn't burn bridges the way Sirius did. He went home to see his ailing mother and his functionally-alcoholic father even when he did't want to. He baked for Hope, now that she couldn't. He listened to Lyall's stories from work as a homicide detective, even though they made Remus sick to his stomach and terrified.   
  
“I’ve never asked,” Remus said after a while, “why constellations?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Your family,” Remus explained. “Why do they name you all after constellations?”  
  
Sirius huffed. "Rather a stupid tradition. Family tree says we're descended from Norman knights, who came to England with William the Conqueror. One night, they were supposedly making their way back to the castle when they were ambushed by locals. They fought their way out, but in the skirmish, became disoriented. From the nearby wood, a young woman emerged and offered to read the stars to guide them home. She did so, and when they were back to the castle, they offered the woman a bed for the night. In the morning, by the light of day, the son of the knight spotted this girl leaving the castle—Raoul, he was called—and he fell in love with her. They named their children after the stars that bound them together, and we've done the same ever since."  
  
"So what you're saying is that your ancestors were shit at directions and now your poor cousin is called Nymphadora? Honestly, that's crackers."   
  
“You know,” Sirius chuckled, “Marls said something to me last year, something like why is everyone you know certifiably insane.”   
  
“I’ll refrain from taking offence,” Remus ruefully replied.   
  
They stood together for a few moments, a gentle breeze pushing its icy tendrils under the layers of their clothes.   
  
"And you?" asked Remus finally, pressing a soft kiss to the line of Sirius' jaw. He gestured towards the sky. "Is this it for you? Your future mapped out in the constellations?"  
  
Sirius let out a bark of a laugh, and wrapped an arm around Remus. The press of their bodies together felt good - felt right.   
  
“Nah, I’ve got a different motto.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“ _Astra inclinant, sed non obligant_ ,” Sirius said quietly, surveying the skies above him. “ _The stars incline us, they do not bind us_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song 1: Shotgun, by George Ezra  
> Song 2: T-Shirt Weather, by Circa Waves  
> Song 3: Send Me On My Way, by Rusted Root  
> Song 4: Free Your Mind (While You Still Got Time), by The James Hunter Six  
> Song 5: Shelter, by Dermot Kennedy  
> Song 6: On The Ball, by Bryce Vine  
> Song 7: Olalla, by Blanco White  
> Song 8: When You Move, by Parachute  
> Song 9: Round Here, by Counting Crows  
> Song 10: TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME, by The 1975  
> Song 11: Guiding Light, by Foy Vance  
> Song 12: Back to You, by Selena Gomez  
> Song 13: Back to You (acoustic), by NATIIVE & Cailee Rae  
> Song 14: Human, by dodie & Tom Walker  
> Song 15: Sedona, by Houndmouth  
> Song 16: Sedated, by Hozier  
> Song 17: 3AM, by Matchbox Twenty  
> Song 18: Chain Reaction, by Diana Ross  
> Song 19: One of the Brightest Stars, by James Blunt


End file.
